


Sherwood

by Jlocked, The_Lady_of_Purpletown



Series: Sherwood [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Anal Sex, Angelo's Restaurant, Angst, BDSM, Bad Porn, Ballet, Breakfast in Bed, Bruises, Cabs, Cheating, Crossdressing, Dates, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Guilt, Humour, Jealousy, Johnlock Roulette, Lots of kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Office Sex, Polyamory, Porn Star Sherlock, Porn Watching, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective John, Public Sex, Questioning Sexuality, Reading Fanfiction, STDs, Sex, Snuggling, Swimming Pool, Teasing, Texting, Trains, Triggers, UMQRA, Waiting, analyses, descriptions of films, good porn, keeping secrets, mentions of knifeplay, mentions of needles, moustache, oak - Freeform, other AUs and ships in films, porn industry, revealing secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 70,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3475631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jlocked/pseuds/Jlocked, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lady_of_Purpletown/pseuds/The_Lady_of_Purpletown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is happily married, but after some vague fantasies he has started questioning his sexuality. In his search for answers, he is helped by an old friend from medical school, who introduces him to the work of the unusual actor H. Sherwood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cover (mildly nsfw):
> 
>  
> 
> Mind: the original edit is not ours. We want to thank Nicci-Mac for doing such a good job on it, and should it be a problem that we have adapted your work for our cover, please let us know.
> 
> We can’t promise when exactly we will update, so it may be wise to subscribe so you don’t miss the next chapters!

“Lovely,” John said with a smile as he took his plate of eggs and bacon from Mary. “I’ll miss you, you know.”

“Awh… I’ll miss you too.” Mary smiled at him and then leaned over to pour him some tea. “But it will be fine. You’ll find lots of stuff to do. Barely notice I’m gone, I’m sure.”

John sighed dramatically. “Even at work my favourite nurse will be missing. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Flirt with my pretty young replacement?” Mary suggested.

“You mean Thomas?” John said, raising an eyebrow.

Mary smiled knowingly and nodded.

“I’m afraid he doesn’t quite shake my boat,” John said.

“Awh…” Mary made an exaggerated pout. “Too young for you? Too… tall?”

“Oi!” John said, softly kicking her leg under the table.

“Domestic violence?” she teased. “Really John?”

“They’re going to pity you so much when they see the traces my sock left behind. Maybe it will even have left a thread on your pyjamas.” He shook his head sadly before taking a bite of eggs.

"My friends will all be shocked," Mary said, barely suppressing a giggle. "Tell me they all warned me about marrying a soldier."

John snorted. "I bet David would actually believe you. Is he still single now?"

"I think so," Mary said absentmindedly as she spread jam on a piece of toast. "I know he was dating someone, but I think that's over."

"And there's probably no one else whose partner couldn't get out of a weekend shift. So you and him are the only ones on that "friend weekend" who are alone. You don't actually have to share a room, do you?" John asked, frowning at his bacon.

"You know, it's funny," Mary said, raising an eyebrow. "I checked your schedule and you weren't signed up for that shift until after I told you about this weekend..." She let him stew for all of two seconds before laughing. "Don't worry about it, John. I know this is not your thing. I don't mind going alone. And no, I'm not going to jump David just because you're not there."

"Oh, I was never worried about that. You've got much better now," John said smugly, sipping his tea. "It's just so obvious that he's still not over you."

"Well, I don't mind him fawning over me," Mary said. "Unless you think it's too cruel to lead him on? Should I let him get a little lucky?"

John huffed and bit his toast aggressively.

Mary laughed and then nudged John's foot with her own under the table. "You know you can trust me," she said. "I have absolutely no interest in David. I left him, remember? I'm with you."

"I know." John smiled at her. "I hope you have a great weekend."

"You too, darling," Mary said. She got up and walked around the table to give him a soft kiss. Then she headed off to their bedroom to get ready.

 

…

 

It was a frustrating day at work. As always on Fridays, it was busy, and every time Tall Thomas crossed his path, John had to look away. Damn Mary. She was all too good at saying things that would make him crack up with laughter at the most inappropriate moments.

‘ _You’re a horrible person_ ’, he texted her during his break.

 _‘I love you too. Give my best to Thomas’,_ came the answer a few minutes later.

John chuckled and shook his head.

Still, he wondered a little at how Mary had looked when she had nodded at his joke that morning. Obviously they had both been kidding, but there had been that glint in her eyes that she sometimes had when she had figured something out before he had.

He could only hope he hadn’t been talking in his sleep. In the last two weeks he had somehow managed to have three erotic dreams. And that wouldn’t have been so worrying if they had not all starred men. Faceless men who had been appealing to John, intriguing, attractive. In the dreams he had not even thought twice before he returned their touches, and one of those mornings he had woken up awkwardly hard.

In fact he had had a few similar dreams earlier, but never so frequently. It made him wonder about them even by day. In his fantasies it wasn’t such a big deal to be touching a man. But in real life, he had never really felt attracted to men. He could appreciate that some were better-looking than others, and once or twice he might have developed a slight crush on an army mate… But that was just when there were no women around. It had simply been the loneliness getting to all of them, the need for affection in a world that consisted of aggression and cold practicality. Not something to actually act on.

Perhaps his subconsciousness was merely telling him that he was working too hard. The stress might be getting to him, and he had to admit that he didn’t really have any hobbies to take his mind off things, anything to relieve him a bit.

But after Mary’s remark, he actually found himself studying Thomas as he left the room after leaving a patient file. Was there anything about him that John… liked?

Immediately he pushed the thought out of his mind. It was completely inappropriate to be watching a colleague like that, even if he found that he wasn’t in any way attracted to the young man. And what if he was? He was happily married. And yet, John felt it was something he ought to know about himself.

 

It was almost a relief when his lunch break was over and the next patient came in. Working hours really weren’t the best time to start fretting about your sexuality. And the patient’s problem turned out to be a rather complicated case, which was ideal to keep his mind too occupied to return to the matter for the rest of the afternoon.

 

…

 

In the evening, John decided to stop by the big video rental shop near the clinic before going home. His and Mary’s preferences in film genres were actually quite alike, but while he liked to rewatch an old favourite now and then, she only ever wanted to see films she hadn’t seen before. There were too many good stories to linger on stuff she already knew, she said. So John decided that her weekend out was the perfect time to go find an old Bond film.

Inside the shop, he walked along the shelves for a while, but somehow he couldn’t find any Bond in the mass of action films. He saw some newer stuff he wanted to see sometime, but couldn’t make up his mind, and eventually returned to the Bond idea. There was no way they didn’t have _The Man with the Golden Gun_. But as he was walking towards the desk to find out where they had hidden it, he saw the staircase leading down to the left of the desk, invisible from the entrance. A small arrow, saying ‘18+’, was screwed to its railing.

In the few times he had been here before, John had never paid it any mind. But now, suddenly, he realised that this section might actually provide an answer to the question he was struggling with. In a pretty innocent way, he could discover if men could ever be sexy to him.

He felt like a naughty schoolboy going down those stairs. And as he spotted the yellow plate saying “GAY” above an aisle further to the back, he cringed at the thought that that was in fact what he was looking for.

As he walked down the corridor between the rows of shelves, he crossed a middle-aged man who was holding three dvd boxes and looked rather excited about his choice. A few shelves away, a girl in her twenties was critically comparing the two dvds in her hands.

Finally John could turn the corner of his destination, dearly wishing no one else would be there. He was lucky, and started browsing the many films. There was a whole bloody aisle of this stuff, and he had no clue what he was actually looking for. There even was a _Man with the Golden Gun_ , but John didn’t even think about picking that one up.

“John? John Watson?”

John cringed. The last he needed was someone shouting his name in this section. Hoping furiously that it wasn’t one of his patients, he turned to see the man who, to John’s relief, was wearing a badge with the name of the rental shop on it.

“Stamford,” the man said, smiling a little. “Mike Stamford. We were in medical school together. Before I figured out that it wasn’t for me.”

Of course. Thinking away the glasses and imagining another haircut, John did recognise him. “Yes, sorry, yes, Mike,” he said, quickly shaking Mike’s offered hand, trying not to feel like all the men on the dvd covers were gazing at him, mocking him for the situation he had gotten himself into. “Hello, hi.”

“Yeah, I know, I got fat,” Mike chuckled.

“No. Just didn’t expect you here.” John almost closed his eyes and groaned. Great. As if he had needed to draw attention to where he was.

Mike looked a little amused. “I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?”

“I got shot,” John said shortly. “I mean… Sorry. Guess it’s still a touchy subject.” He tried very hard not to think of what those dvd cover men would make of the words ‘shot’ and ‘touchy’. “But it’s been some time now, fortunately. All settled back into civilian life. Working at a clinic and I got married last year.”

“Oh, really?” Mike beamed at him. “Congratulations.”

“Ta. It’s great. She’s great.” John smiled.

“So…” Mike looked at the shelves. “Browsing for your wife?”

“Ah… No.” The words had left him before he realised that perhaps that would have been a less awkward explanation. If only the ground would finally open to make him disappear… “I was just… crossing the corridor to get to… something else…”

Mike grinned. “Hey, I’ve worked here for a couple of years. You’d be surprised how many people use this corridor as a passageway, even if it only leads to the wall. And how often they’re in need of advice without wanting to ask for it.”

John had the feeling even his hair would turn red soon. “I really just got lost.”

“Sorry, didn’t want to imply anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Mike said, his grin disappearing. “But hey, it was good to see you. We really should go for a drink sometime. Catch up a little. I bet you’ve got some exciting stories to tell.”

“We, erm, we should. Yeah.”

“Well, I think they’ll be needing me at the back now. Hope you find something good.” Mike left the aisle, but before he turned the corner, he pointed to the left, just for a moment. Then he was gone to let John die of shame in peace.

Though instead of doing that, John curiously took a few steps forward. There was no one around now to see him pick up the dvd box that Mike seemed to have pointed at. _The Best of GOFFT_.

At least it had no cheesy title like _A Study in Penis_ or _Scandalous in Belgravia_. And the cover was black with some blue velvet curtains long enough to be draped over the floor, which was also a lot better than those staring, somewhat creepy men showing off their bodies. In fact, the girl at the desk upstairs might even be unaware of what it was if he chose to rent it.

Still, if it belonged to this section…

 

…

 

After dinner, John watched a rather crappy program on the telly, the dvd box waiting on the coffee table. Now and then he glanced at it curiously, realising that if he wanted to have a look at it that night he’d better not put it off too long, what with work in the morning. So he decided against mindlessly browsing through the channels for another hour and got up to put the dvd in the player, feeling skeptical and excited at the same time. If this stuff didn’t do it for him, it would be something of a relief. He’d know he was absolutely straight and that these last few weeks his mind had just been playing tricks on him. Perhaps it was something everyone who had recently gotten married went through, getting inappropriate fantasies because they knew they had made a serious promise to be faithful and monogamous.

If it _did_ work for him, well, it would just be something to wank to for tonight while his wife was out. Nothing wrong with that. When he watched women, he hadn’t _actually_ wanted to be with them either, so it would be no different.

He nodded to himself as he poured himself a drink. He also put a box of tissues and a bottle of lube on the table, just in case, and then sat back and pressed play.

A large logo filled the screen and John snorted as he saw what “GOFFT” actually stood for. That didn’t bode well.

A gym came into view. Not a very convincing one. It seemed like someone had just taken a couple of random machines, a few weights and a single exercise ball and dumped them in a room with lots of mirrors. Well, art direction probably wasn’t a priority.

A blond man was standing in front of one of the mirrors, lifting weights. He was tall and handsome, sure, but had the kind of jawline that reminded John of dumb Americans in movies. He was clearly enjoying watching himself. Then his gaze shifted as a man stepped up behind him. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Hi Richie,” the ginger newcomer said. “How’s it hanging?”

John stared at his TV in shock. They were _actually_ saying that? Or had Mike pointed him to a parody, knowing John would enjoy a good laugh?

“Hey Al,” Richie answered, smirking. “What’s up?”

Al offered to help Richie and soon they were snogging up against one of the mirrors. At least that shut them up.

Both men sported some rather impressive muscles, the kind you got from hours of repetitive movements in the gym, not from any kind of honest labour or practical use. Well… He figured that some people liked that look. But why was their skin so shiny? Richie had been working out, but Al looked straight out of the locker room. Surely he couldn’t have worked up a sweat yet. John supposed it was some kind of oil to make them look… sexy?

More like… sticky. It must be really unpleasant to touch someone that slippery.

Clothes began coming off, revealing completely hairless chests, armpits and even legs. John rolled his eyes. Combined with the oil, it gave the impression that the men were made of plastic. Perhaps that did it for the fans of toys, but the only reason John was still watching, was that it was all so ridiculous it became funny.

Richie had started palming an alarmingly large bulge in Al’s boxers. They began moaning. Quite a lot more than was strictly necessary, John thought. If this were a real gym, surely an instructor or one of the other visitors would have come to see if someone was in pain.

Then Richie sank to his knees. Al supported both hands against the mirror and looked down at him with a very lewd grin. “Go on,” he said.

Slowly, while licking his lips, Richie pulled down Al’s boxers and a very large, very erect cock came into view. It was vaguely hot to look at, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the distinct lack of hair anywhere near the pubic area.

“Lick it,” Al said and Richie did just that. It seemed a bit silly to have Al giving directions like that. As if he didn’t think Richie knew what he was there for.

And then, to John’s chagrin, instead of just enjoying it, Al kept moaning ‘lick that dick’, ‘touch it’, ‘you’re so good’, and similar things.

Richie was just moaning, so much in fact that John began wondering if there was perhaps a third person present, doing something to Richie’s genitalia. But as the camera moved, it became apparent that no one was touching him. Not even himself.

John snorted. Surely it wasn’t _that_ great licking a cock, even if it was an unusually large one.

Suddenly Al grabbed Richie’s hair with one hand and his cock with the other, pushing it down to align with Richie’s mouth.

“Suck it,” he hissed. “Suck that dick…”

“Shut up, Al,” John muttered, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t in the least bit aroused, yet he did find himself very impressed with how much of the length Richie was able to take in. It had to be pressing down into his throat by now. Didn’t this guy have a gag reflex? In his university days John had had a girlfriend who had been quite eager to try taking him as deep as she could, which had resulted in quite an off-putting coughing fit and some retching. He had done what he could to comfort her, fetching water and holding her, but the mood had been spoiled for the rest of the night.

John noticed he was getting distracted by the memory and focused back on the screen. Yet very soon his respect for the guy’s oral skills gave way to slight annoyance and then boredom. How long could a blowjob last? And did Al have to keep on making those moronic comments? “Love that dick”? What did that even mean?

Finally, Al pushed Richie away. Richie stood up and there was more kissing while Al pulled his boxers down and began stroking a cock that John realised he would usually have considered quite big, but compared to Al’s it seemed just average.

As Al crouched down, John feared he would have to sit through another eternal blowjob. But instead Richie turned round, pressing his chest to the mirror. Al parted his cheeks with his hands and began licking his (also shaved) arsehole.

John raised his eyebrows. Okay, after making sure it was clean, that might actually feel good. But it was extremely weird to look how some guy was pressing his mouth to the other one’s arse. The only good thing about it was that Al’s tongue was too busy to make more of his stupid remarks. And Richie seemed to be less verbal, though his moaning seemed to have gone up almost an octave. Having a tongue in your arse must feel quite a lot better than John had initially thought.

Suddenly they had moved. John wondered if he had zoned out for a moment, or if it had really been cut so abruptly. Now they were by one of those exercise machines that seemed to be all chrome and black leather. Al lifted Richard up on it, bent his legs in an uncomfortable looking angle and then, without any kind of preparation or consideration, proceeded to push into his arse.

The sight was more scary than erotic. Al’s enormous dick kept disappearing further and further, and John actually winced. That must be extremely painful. It looked as though Richie could rip in two any moment. He wondered if horror porn was an existing genre, and then decided he didn’t want to know.

Leaning forward, he also noticed that they weren’t using a condom. No preparation, not even lube. What kind of message were they sending, showing anal sex to be so… easy? What if some poor guy who didn’t know any better thought he could just shove it in and then went and hurt his partner?

Stop being a doctor, John scolded himself. He supposed that something had been done off camera to prepare Richie for this. Maybe that’s why there was a cut as they moved. Or maybe it had even been taken care of before they began filming. A bit of a shame. John suspected that it might have been at least as interesting to watch as that tedious blowjob.

But then, how many straight pornos were realistic like that? This was just bad. But it didn’t have much to do with the fact that this were two men. He decided he didn’t have to be there for their orgasms and pressed the skip button on his remote.

 

The second scene started out with two guys naked on a bed, already going at each other, kissing very noisily. They did a 69 which was actually a lot more interesting than the blowjob in the gym, even though, or maybe because, the camera was not as up-close but rather hovering above the two men. One of them, however, was so hairy that for a moment John wondered if he was even human, or perhaps a sort of werebear. Apparently the porn industry was a world of extremes.

The moaning was a bit too loud and should, logically, be more muffled since both the men had their mouths quite full. But at least they weren’t talking. Then they changed position and The Bear got down on all four. Again there was no preparation (nor a condom, nor any lube) as the other man just shoved right in and began pounding. Boring…

And then the dialogue began. More of that mindless “Oh yeah,” and “Fuck me…” stuff. And lots of grunting and moaning. One of the voices sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until John realised that none of the men on the screen were actually talking that it dawned on him that the soundtrack was dubbed and that one of the moaners was in fact Al from the gym.

John hit skip as fast as he could.

 

The third scene was in some kind of garage. There were tires and tools and stuff and even one of those lift things for cars. The guy in the dirty overalls was quite handsome, though it seemed rather eccentric for him not to be wearing a shirt. At least he wasn’t bulging with muscles.

Then two guys in jeans and t-shirts came in. There was some tolerable dialogue about their car  that the younger guy was supposed to be fixing - but there were no actual cars in sight, which seemed pretty dumb.

Apparently the job was proving harder than expected and he wouldn’t get it done on time. So of course, the largest of the two others, the one with a ragged scar down his cheek - was that make-up? It looked real - told him he would have to ‘make it up’ to them.

Who wrote this stuff? John was pretty sure they could do better. But at least the atmosphere was quite different from the last two clips. The dvd seemed to be made to let people find out what they liked. Only, so far, the company wouldn’t earn any more of _his_ money.

The young man was soon naked and on his knees. The others were rough with him as he sucked them, but not cruel or violent. Then Scar lifted him up (the lad wasn’t exactly tiny, but that guy made it look like he weighed nothing at all) and carried him over to a stack of tires, bending him over it. To John’s surprise a bottle of lube was produced and Scar actually took the time to open him up with a couple of fingers.

All the while the other man, who was so tanned it was almost disgusting, was, of course, keeping his mouth busy. Once the lad was ready, they took turns at fucking him at both ends. John really hoped there was some off-camera cleaning going on when Scar moved from his arse up to his mouth. Otherwise… gross…

For a moment, John was worried that they might actually do a ‘double anal’, but then both men cried out and covered the poor mechanic in sticky white lines. Far too many to be realistic. John wondered what they used as substitute.

As they sloppily kissed the young guy, John seriously considered just giving up on the whole thing. It had been… fascinating… but in no way arousing. He was definitely _not_ attracted to men.

 

But then the next clip started. The shot was of the foot of a bed, seen from ground level. Just a hint of polished wooden floors and then the camera moved up to show black sheets that looked like silk or some other shiny material.

John raised his eyebrows. It all looked very neat, but he was too impatient to deal with a commercial for expensive sheets. Still, he decided to give it one last chance.

The camera seemed to hover over the bed for a moment, then began to move up slowly. There was a shape under the sheets. Something long. Legs probably. The camera was moving frustratingly slow, but just before John could get annoyed and turn off the telly, there was the first hint of skin. Impossibly pale and smooth. A very well-shaped arse came into view, partly covered by the sheets which only seemed to add to its allure. Whoever was directing this bit, knew what they were doing. This was better. Not sweaty bodies and genitalia showed in your face, but a gradual revelation. Hints that left you wanting more.

John shifted a little in his chair, leaning slightly towards the screen as if he could somehow get a better angle. See more.

The camera had not stopped and now narrow hips and a slender back were visible. John had just enough time to wonder if it was possible that a scene with a woman had somehow ended up on this dvd, when he caught a glimpse of an arm and hand that were definitely male. But nothing like the other men. No bulging muscles, spray tan and oil here. Just pale, fine skin stretched over lean, subtly defined muscles. The camera passed the shoulders and John held his breath. But the face was hidden by a frankly ridiculous mess of soft, dark curls.

The camera zoomed in and there was the first sign of movement. Just a slight stirring at first, but then the curls fell to the side revealing more pale skin. And then the upper part of a face.

John vaguely registered some rather extraordinary cheekbones, before the man opened his eyes. Such eyes… Pale grey. No, blue. With a scatter of golden green. They blinked sleepily and then focused on the camera. Stared right into John’s soul.

Well, no, of course they didn’t, but that was what it felt like. John laughed nervously, trying to shake it off. He looked into those eyes and let himself just enjoy them for their unusual beauty, ignoring the stirring somewhere inside him when the man blinked, indecently slow.

The eyes receded a little as the camera zoomed out, revealing a narrow, almost alien face. John supposed the man was handsome, but in a slightly disturbing way. The eyes, the cheekbones and a feminine mouth that just shouldn’t work on a man but… it sort of did.

And then he smiled. Not one of those ‘come and get me’ smiles that John had been cringing at so far. It was a genuine, open smile. Fond. Like he was looking at someone he truly cared about. Like he had just woken up to find his lover - John - leaning in over him. The lips moved. Formed a word. There was no sound, but John was pretty sure it was ‘hello’. Such a silly thing to say. Ridiculous really. Definitely not sexy.

So why was John, for the first time while watching this wretched thing, feeling the heat pool in his stomach, moving down to his groin? Why were his pants suddenly growing uncomfortably tight?

Because it was so incredibly intimate, he realised. Not that senseless, moaned dialogue of the other scenes. There was, in fact, no sound at all. But where all the “Suck that dick” and “Fuck my arse” had only made John cringe, the mere hint of this one word had him hooked. He could not help but picture himself right there in the room with this oddly beautiful man. Believe himself the one for whom that smile was intended.

John had been so lost in this fantasy that it took him a moment to realise that the camera had moved back again. Now he could see the man’s chest as well, one of his hands resting lightly, just below the right nipple. John’s eyes flickered back and forth between the long fingers, the full lips and those piercing eyes. Where was he supposed to look? It was like one of those paintings in a museum that you could just watch for hours, never really finishing. But the hand was moving, the fingers brushing over the nipple, teasing it hard.

John licked his lips, imagining what it would feel like to kiss that nipple. It was so small. It would feel both hard and smooth against his tongue. John laughed and shook his head. This was ridiculous. He’d just watched a man be fucked at both ends and all he had felt was vaguely embarrassed. But this… Some skinny pretty boy was making eyes at him and John was barely resisting the urge to touch himself. Or at least undo his jeans to make room for his growing erection.

As if the man on the screen had read John’s thoughts, he parted his lips and… laughed…

There was still no sound, but John could easily imagine it. A soft, sensual chuckle. This bastard knew exactly what effect he was having on John. But how could he?

Well, the guy was a professional. He was a porn actor. Of course he knew that people would get aroused by watching him. But did he have to be so damn smug about it?

More teasing touches of chest and nipple. John wanted to tell the guy to get on with it. Surely this was going somewhere. Any moment now another man, or maybe two, was going to come in and put those pretty lips to good use.

But instead, the camera moved again. Down his body, but also pulling back, so his face remained in view.

A very flat stomach and then the first hint of dark coarse hair - thank god he wasn’t shaved - could be glimpsed. John capitulated and, feeling a little self-conscious, unzipped his jeans, shifting so he could pull them down a bit. He hesitated, then placed his hand on the hard bulge in his pants, rubbing lightly. That felt entirely too good, and he almost closed his eyes in relief. But then he would have missed it. That first glimpse. He gasped. The man wasn’t even hard…

All the others had been fully erect from start to finish and he had, more than once, suspected that chemicals were involved.

John wasn’t even surprised that the sight of this soft, smooth cock, just lying there, completely innocent and unapologetic was a hundred times more alluring than all those vulgar erections being flung about.

As John rubbed himself harder through the fabric, the man on the screen laughed again (screw that smug bastard. Well… maybe not…) and let his hand slide, all too slowly, down his long body.

“Get on with it,” John muttered at the screen, feeling his cheeks burn with shame as well as excitement. Well… Here he was, wanking to gay porn, so he might as well go all in. “Come on,” he whispered. “Touch yourself.”

As if the man heard him and wanted to tease, the hand hesitated a moment, then swooped down and for a moment covered the cock. John held his breath as the man closed his eyes and moved his hand and then… Yes, there it was.

Seeing the other man grow hard too, somehow made John feel less awkward about his own erection, and as the man began stroking himself slowly, John pushed his pants down and did the same.

“That’s right,” he hissed, smiling a little. “Let’s do this.”

Fuck… As if he had heard John, the man opened his eyes and then his mouth as if gasping. The pupils were dilated now, almost drowning out the pale irises. A hint of colour seemed to be creeping into the white skin, as the man played with himself, moving his hand fast, then slow, pausing, teasing.

Without wanting to, John mimicked his movements and damn if this wasn’t the best hand job he’d had in years. It didn’t even matter that it was his own hand. Groaning and rolling his hips, John found himself getting closer to the edge, hovering there. A pause, retreat. Then a slow build again, until John felt he just could not take it anymore.

John wasn’t sure how long this went on. But when the man finally tightened his grip and finished with a few rough jerks, John followed his example, biting his lips but not suppressing a moan.

“Oh, god… Yes…” And then he cried out his release with such force that surely the neighbours must have heard.

 

Finally he came to his senses enough to grab some tissues and clean himself up. That was… Fuck. Yes. Amazing. And all that just from seeing a man.

There was no doubt now that he _could_ be aroused by men. Yet he knew he liked women too. More. Well… More on a certain level. But if he was honest with himself, he couldn’t remember any woman in a porn movie ever having such an effect on him. It was as though the man could still be there, on a bed in front of him, eyes closed but smiling lazily. John quickly shook his head, but the image didn’t quite leave him. Then he looked back at the telly and saw that the next scene must have started quite a while ago, as the two men there were in full action, in what looked like a forest. He quickly grabbed the remote and switched it off.

That clip he had wanked to had been so different from all the others. Maybe it was because it was just one man. Perhaps the idea of masturbation was alluring to John, because he related to what the man felt, more than being attracted to him. It didn’t mean he was gay, or well, bisexual. John tried to imagine one of the earlier guys in the same situation. Al, while he kept his mouth shut, touching himself. That would just look like… well, some chap tossing off. No. It must be that that one actor with the brilliant eyes was just really, really talented. John pulled his trousers back up, took the dvd box from the table and turned it around, wondering if he would find a name, or if people in this business would rather remain anonymous. But there was, indeed, a list of the different acts on the dvd.

_'1. Tony Steed and Richard Hung. Workout._

_2\. B. Grizzly and Jacque Galore. Going Down._

_3\. Jimmy Tink, Tony Venti and S. Moran. Bodywork._

_4\. H. Sherwood. Awakening._ ’

Sherwood. Well. John almost opened his laptop to look up the name, find out if his other work was just as enticing. Then he stopped himself. Perhaps this was quite enough gay porn for one night. Maybe even for a lifetime, if the other clips were anything to go by. And if Mary saw he had been googling a male porn actor next time she borrowed his laptop, her teasing would never end.

No. He’d return the dvd tomorrow on the way to work. Or on the way back, if the rental shop wasn’t open that early. Then he could ask them for the proper version of _The Man with the Golden Gun_ … and wouldn’t be tempted to play that one clip again the following night.


	2. Chapter 2

"No, no, no, no, no, don't burn," John said, quickly stirring the vegetables in the pan. He wanted this to be perfect for Mary. On a Sunday that he had been to work and she had been out, she'd just expect some kind of take-away for dinner, but he wanted to do better. Surprise her. Even though he was an average cook at best, this recipe seemed pretty straightforward - but it still wouldn’t do to get distracted. After all, his whole plan to make her dinner was a way to take his mind off the dreams of the previous two nights. The men he had dreamed about before were no longer faceless, and everything had become a hundred times more intense. Last night Sherwood had just been touching him, all over his body as though he had been exploring, in an intimate but not explicitly sexual way. Nevertheless, John had had to hurry to the shower to take care of matters when his alarm went off. He had tried very hard to focus on Mary, but couldn't shake a feeling of guilt.

 

As he put the food in the oven, he heard the sound of a car just outside the house and smiled. Dinner would be ready just in time.

The moment Mary was through the door, she pulled him in for a big hug. Then she sniffed the air and laughed. "Oh no, John," she said, trying to look serious. "Will Thomas be filing a sexual harassment complaint?"

John snorted. "Who says he didn't jump _me_?"

Mary raised a single eyebrow. "Have you _seen_ him?" she teased. "I love you, John, but I'm sorry to have to tell you this: Thomas is way out of your league."

"May I remind you that I'm married to _you_?" John said. "You're in a _much_ higher league than him." He chuckled and leaned in for a kiss.

"Well, yes... I'm out of your league too," she said, giving him a quick peck. "I'm just daft enough not to care..." She gave him a proper kiss, only slightly interrupted by giggling. When she pulled away, she sniffed again. "It does smell really good. What are we having?"

 

...

 

The noise Mary made as she tasted the dish almost reminded John of Al and Richie, but when she asked what he was sniggering about, he just told her that he was glad she liked it. He was quite proud that apparently he had made something delicious. He insisted he'd do the dishes, and then joined Mary on the sofa.

"So, how was the weekend? Worth missing me?"

"Oh, I had such a good time," she said, putting her feet in his lap. "It was great seeing everybody again. Catching up." She sighed, lost in happy memories for a moment. "How about you? What did you get up to, besides a little office romance?"

John smiled. "You know. Just work. By the way, Mrs Jones came in again. She's doing a lot better now, so that was a great idea you had there."

"Of course," she said smugly. "But surely it wasn't all work. Been out for a pint? Watched any movies... You know, with that guy you like. What's-’is-face..."

John stared at her. "What?" Guy he liked? How on Earth would she know... He felt himself blush fiercely.

"Yeah, that James bloke," Mary said, laughing. "Oh, come on, John... You look like a school boy with a secret crush. I'm not going to be jealous over some fictional special agent."

"Oh... Oh." Once again he was staring at Mary, but this time in exasperation. "Did you manage to forget _James Bond_ 's name?"

"Bond... James Bond... That's right..." Mary was overcome with giggles. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to offend him..."

"Seriously. How _dare_ you." John chuckled and started a tickle attack, which effectively distracted them from the subject John really wanted to avoid.

 

…

 

With Mary home, John almost managed not to think of the video. He had nearly forgotten about it a couple of weeks later, when his third patient of the day walked in.

Tall. Dark curls. Those eyes. That bloody _mouth_.

Eventually John realised that he stood staring at his patient and quickly told him to take a seat. He was hardly making a good first impression.

The man's eyes flickered around the room, then focused on John. He nodded and sat down. "I need you to test me," he said. "For anything transmittable. And I need the results quickly."

John cleared his throat and pulled himself together. That voice was so unlike anything John could have imagined when he had been watching him. So deep it almost seemed to rumble through his blood. But there was no way he was going to let it affect him in any way. This was just another patient.

“You mean sexually transmittable?” John asked. “Did you get into any activities lately that may have put you at a higher risk?”

"Yes," the man said, smiling a little. "And no. All my partners wear condoms and are screened as often as I am. I do not expect to have caught anything. But the insurance company insists that we provide proof of health, quarterly. My previous doctor just retired and you were recommended to me."

"I see..." John glanced at his computer screen. "Mr Holmes." Sherlock Holmes, in fact. What kind of name was Sherlock? It sounded like a pseudonym itself.

"So you don't have any symptoms that could be worrying?"

"No," Sherlock said, sounding as if he was already growing bored with the situation. "I'm always very careful. I just need this for the paperwork. And preferably soon. I'm shooting next Friday." He stood up again and shrugged off his coat. "Shall we begin? You can ask me the obligatory questions while you work. I believe I know the form by heart."

"Right, yes," John said, a little taken aback by the man's directness. "Please take off your trousers and pants." Clearly Sherlock knew the drill, but he was saying it more for his own sake. Because he _did_ have to ask him that. There was no escape.

"Of course." Sherlock hung his coat neatly over the back of the chair, toed off his shoes and began opening his trousers.

_I am a professional. A professional professional. I am not the least bit affected by having watched this man. Professional._

John kept repeating the words in his head as he snapped on his gloves. But then he realised what the actual professional thing to do here was.

"Mr Holmes... I think you should know... In case you'd want a different doctor. I, er... I've seen one of your videos."

"Obviously," Sherlock said, placing his trousers on top of his coat. "Though, to be more accurate, you have seen a single scene. Which of the compilations was it?" But before John could answer, he continued. "The black and blue one, or you would be looking for the tattoo."

"Ah. You keep good track of your work, then," John said. "How did you know it was a compilation?"

"Recently married, questioning your sexuality," Sherlock said, bending down to pull off his pants. "A compilation would be the obvious choice. A chance to sample different genres and themes. But all of them so brief that there is no risk of getting too... committed." He glanced over at John. "But you didn't think of that yourself, so someone recommended it to you."

"How... I mean... That's amazing," John blurted out. "What you said," he added quickly, realising that his comment had been all too close to the moment Sherlock removed his pants.

Sherlock smirked but didn't comment as he took up position in the middle of the floor. "Well," he said. "Shall we?"

"Yes. Of course." Their talking had made John feel less awkward, and now he was back to full doctor mode. Visually there was nothing out of the ordinary - except of course that Sherlock was built better than average. Then John went through the routine of asking questions (most of which Sherlock didn’t let him finish before answering), taking the necessary swabs and drawing blood, thinking that perhaps he could make up for the awkward delay by his efficient work.

"All results will have arrived by next Wednesday," John said as they both sat down again, Sherlock once again dressed.

"Wednesday will be fine. That should give me plenty of time to get the papers ready." Sherlock smiled. "Thank you. You wasted a lot less time than my previous doctor."

John smiled too. "You're welcome. Good luck with the filming, then."

 

When Sherlock had left, John sat at his desk for a few minutes, staring into nothingness. He had actually _met_ him. Sherwood. He was no longer just an image he had wanked to, he was a _man_. A real, live man who was just as good-looking when sitting right before him as he had been on screen. And yet he had been so different. Practical, impatient, and apparently ridiculously smart. Nothing like the pliant lover who had been teasing himself so slowly. Even his smile was different.

John shook his head, drank some water and called in the next patient.

 

…

 

That evening, when Mary was on her own laptop, John returned to his earlier idea of googling ‘Sherwood’. After refining his search to get rid of all the Robin Hood references, there was a Youtube clip, a few links to dvds that were for sale on Amazon, and a website called _The Science of Seduction_. Curious, he clicked it. Apparently it was Sherlock’s own website.

Oddly, there were no pictures of the man. Instead there was a brief introduction that would have seemed absolutely ludicrous had John not seen it put into action:

 

_‘I'm H. Sherwood, the world's only cerebral erotic performer._

_I'm not going to go into detail about how I do what I do because chances are you wouldn't understand. If you are interested in what I do, watch my work._

_This is what I do:_

_1\. I know my viewer._

_2\. From this knowledge, I will deduce what my viewer needs._

_3.When I’ve eliminated all unnecessary distractions, I create a fantasy so tailored to these needs that the viewer will be drawn in and experience it as if it were their own._

 

_Should you be interested in hiring me, contact my agent.’_

 

John snorted. The man sounded like an arrogant dick. And yet, John had experienced that he did in fact know what he was talking about. And he was _definitely_ cerebral.

Below the text, one G. Lestrade’s contact details followed. There was also a forum in which Sherwood’s fans (and a few haters) had posted opinions or questions. It seemed that he did, infrequently, take the time to respond to some of these. Then there was an archive of pieces he had written about each of his films, explaining in detail how he created the desired effect. The last tab showed a list of links where his work could be viewed or bought.

Shifting in his chair, John glanced over at Mary. She seemed absorbed in whatever she was doing on her computer. He returned to the files tab and scanned the list of titles. There it was, somewhere halfway. ' _Awakening_ '. He clicked it, wondering what Sherlock would have to say about the clip.

_‘This scene was intended for men only just venturing into the same-sex oriented side of their sexuality. For many, the first meeting with gay erotica can be quite startling, even alarming. Especially if they are so unfortunate as to stumble upon the type of generic acting that this industry is overflowing with. Presented with oiled up, borderline dysmorphic men spouting inane dialogue between a cacophony of grunts and groans, many a curious novice may recoil. To the inexperienced, this rough and usually highly inaccurate representation of gay sex can be a repulsive or frightening thing to watch._

_Therefore, the setting of this short scene was chosen carefully to be erotic yet domestic. Just a bed. But not any bed. The black sheets indicate that we are, tentatively, venturing into risky territory._

_The viewer is still hesitant, so the first glimpse of naked flesh is partially obscured. But not innocent. Oh no. We wouldn't want to get boring now, would we?_

_Possibly the most taboo part of the male anatomy: the buttocks. And, of course, the knowledge of what lies between. But we are not going there. Because the sight of another man's anus will remind the viewer of his own and to what use it may be put. This viewer is not ready to openly face this fantasy. So we move on. More skin. More body._

_And then a face. At peace. Defenceless. No threat in any way. Now come the movements of awakening and here lies the most important moment of this entire scene. The viewer must be met with recognition and affection. The viewer is, for this moment in time, my lover. And I welcome him. And then I give myself to him.’_

John could hardly believe what he was reading. It was all so clinical. And actually it sounded as though Sherlock had directed the scene himself. No wonder that it was so clever, then.

The rest of the article was just as technical and dry, almost scientific in its descriptions of what happened in the clip. And yet it called up memories that made John shift in his chair again. When he was done reading, he cleared his throat awkwardly. It was almost as if he had watched it again, but this time it was more confronting, reading all those thoughts about being uncertain about his sexuality, deductions that were all too accurate of how he would react to certain shots.

Mary glanced over and then frowned. "Oh John..." she said. "Have I been neglecting you?"

"What?" John quickly closed the tab in panic.

"You seem so restless," Mary said. "And I know it's... been a while." She walked over and bent down to kiss him.

“Oh.” John returned the kiss and put the laptop aside, shooting a last glance at the screen to make sure everything was out of view. “Well… I wasn’t really thinking about it, but… I’m not going to complain…” He smirked.

Mary pushed him a bit so she could sit down in his lap. Then she giggled. "Oh you weren't, were you?" she said, wriggling against him. "Then what _were_ you thinking of?"

"Well, I'm thinking of you _now_ ," John said, proud of himself for not stammering. "And you're quite an... effective... kisser..." He let his hands slide down over her back, pulling her closer for another kiss.

 

Later in bed, with Mary in his arms, John couldn't help feeling guilty. He had let himself be aroused by Sherlock again, and then Mary had had to finish it off. Well, clearly she had been in the mood too, but still. Just reading about Sherlock had been enough to get him half-hard, and probably more if he had continued. He loved Mary, he knew that, and that should be enough. Yet even now he was thinking about a pale, smug porn actor.

"Stop fretting," Mary muttered, then yawned. "Just go to sleep. Everything will be fine in the morning..."

 

…

 

The next day, Mary went to see a movie with the girls after work. She popped into John’s office for a quick kiss before his last patient came in, and then hurried off.

When he left the clinic, he was chewing his lips. Without realising it, he was slowing down until he almost wasn't moving by the time the video rental shop came into view.

He really, really shouldn't. Sherlock was his patient. There was little chance he'd see him for several months, before he needed his next STI check, but even then... It was unethical. He couldn't.

And yet he came home with _The Best of GOFFT, second edition_ , the other compilation, with a cover of golden curtains on a white background that somehow looked gayer to him than the previous blue and black. He had just picked it up because he was curious about that tattoo, he told himself. And Sherlock had told him about it, so it would be fine with him if John saw it.

After a quick meal, John didn't bother to watch the other clips and immediately moved on to Sherlock's, the seventh on the dvd. _Coming out_.

 

It started out with music. Not the ‘let’s get it on’ trash that was usually playing in the background, but actual music. It wasn’t a song John recognised, but it sounded like something they’d be likely to play at his favourite pub. And then, as the picture came up, it turned out that the scene was indeed taking place in a pub. As the camera moved through the doors and across the room, John noticed that it was one of those point-of-view shots. Like he was looking out through the eyes of a character. Or like he was the one navigating towards the bar where…

Just as John spotted him, the camera halted its movements as if the person was hesitating. That narrow back, those silly curls.

He was sitting at the bar, talking to the woman making drinks.

The camera approached him and he turned around to look straight into it. This time there was no recognition in his eyes, but he smiled as if he liked what he saw. “Hi,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Sherwood. I’ve never seen you around here.” Now the camera panned out and the other man, a very ordinary looking bloke, slightly younger than Sherlock - no, Sherwood - could be seen. He smiled and shook the offered hand before sitting down. He was blushing and obviously nervous. They began talking, but the camera had moved further away and their voices were drowned by the music.

Then the scene changed. A slightly blurry fade to a dark alley. Muffled music could be heard. A different song, but the same general style. Then suddenly the music grew louder and the camera turned to show warm golden light, spilling out of a door. Two men stumbled out, arms wrapped around each other, lips locked together in a very heated kiss. Sherwood and the other man. In a single movement, Sherwood managed to kick the door closed and spin them around so that he could push the other man up against the grey brick wall.

He pulled back, but only a fraction of an inch so that their lips were still very close together. He smiled and then laughed, sounding rather breathless. Then he plunged in for another kiss. The young man gasped in mixed surprise and arousal. It was a very long kiss and the camera moved slowly to show different angles. Tongues could be seen playfully tangling, teeth nipped at lips and the sounds of their breaths and moans grew increasingly desperate.

John cleared his throat and shifted to give himself a little more room in his jeans. It was only a kiss, but it was so much hotter than that endless blowjob from the first dvd.

Then Sherwood pushed his lips harder against the other man’s mouth and did something that made his partner let out a strange sort of longing whine. As Sherwood pulled back, it became clear that he had sucked the other man’s tongue into his mouth. He let it go slowly and then, with that horribly smug smile, took the other’s hand and pulled him away from the wall and down the alley. John just had time to register that Sherwood’s curls were now floating about his head in a tangled cloud. The other guy must have had his hands in them, though John had not noticed.

There was another blurry fade, leaving John wondering what those curls must feel like between his fingers. Somehow they looked much softer than normal hair. Probably some kind of product… But as soon as the image was sharp again, he put all other thoughts out of his mind.

The backseat of a car. A cab. They were kissing again and the driver seemed to be torn between keeping an eye on the traffic and watching those two in the mirror. The camera moved down to show Sherwood’s hand on the other man’s thigh. It moved up slowly and there was a visible bulge - though nothing like Al’s had been. Fortunately.

As Sherwood covered it with his hand, the other guy whimpered again, but the sound was quickly muffled, probably by Sherwood deepening the kiss. He massaged the guy gently for a while, then unzipped his jeans and with surprisingly little fumbling, freed his cock, which proved to be of very average size. And fully erect. A quick cut to Sherwood, pulling out of the kiss long enough to give the guy a questioning look.

The poor bloke was blushing hard and looked slightly dazed, but he nodded and Sherwood kissed him again. Cut down to his hand, now wrapping those beautiful long fingers around the other man’s erection and stroking him slowly.

John had once been in almost the same situation in a cab with an impatient girlfriend, but she hadn’t exactly taken her time like Sherwood was doing. Still, the memory made him bite his lip. It had been quite thrilling to know the driver could look around and throw them out. With Sherwood’s skilful strokes, he was almost surprised the other bloke didn’t come there and then. Then again, the dark-eyed cab driver was of course just another actor.

The cab stopped and Sherwood tucked the man back in before paying for the ride.

Now they were inside, walking up some stairs, making time for a lot of kissing. At some point, Sherwood seemed to have his hand inside the other man’s trousers, but finally they made it up to the door. The young guy almost dropped his keys as Sherwood started sucking on his ear.

Inside, they stumbled through a sitting room as clothes started coming off. Sherwood was pale and lean as ever. The other guy almost seemed brown in comparison, though he actually just had a bit of a tan. And there it was: the tattoo. On Sherwood’s left hip was a strange sort of design. An all black kind of stylised flower. It was rather large and very detailed. As tattoos went, John quite liked it, and he wished the camera would zoom in further.

The young man noticed it too and, dropping to his knees, he tentatively pressed his lips to the skin just above the flower. Sherwood turned slowly and the man’s kisses followed his hipbone and then moved across his flat stomach. But just as the first glimpse of hair came into view, Sherwood sank down to his knees too, so that they were eye to eye. He smiled and kissed the young man and the camera moved down their bodies, which were less than an inch apart. Still, somehow, Sherwood managed to get his hands between them and when he moved again, John could see that the other guy was now wearing a condom. Sherwood aligned their erections, wrapped one hand around them, and began stroking slowly. The other guy was visibly trembling. And John was palming himself through his trousers, but he wouldn’t give in and open them.

While they continued kissing, Sherwood guided the other man’s hand around to his arse and the camera now focused on how he began massaging Sherwood’s hole with a single fingertip. It was glistening and John realised that lube must have been applied. Slowly the muscle yielded and the finger slipped inside. There was a cut to Sherwood’s face as he pulled out of the kiss to gasp with obvious, but not exaggerated pleasure. Back to the finger slipping further and further in. And then thrusting slowly. As the angle of the shot changed a little, John realised that Sherwood was holding on to the other man’s wrist. As if guiding his movements. The shot ended with the finger, buried as deep inside Sherwood as it could possibly go.

Now Sherwood was on the floor. Lying on his back, he smiled up at the other man who was kneeling between his parted legs. He tilted his hips and the camera moved down to show the other man, supporting his cock with one hand, slowly penetrating Sherwood. John suppressed a moan and crossed his arms. He wouldn’t touch himself. No.

As the two men began moving together, the camera did not linger on the genitalia but moved around them, showing them kissing and touching. Sherwood had wrapped those long legs around the other man and they were moving faster and faster, apparently in perfect harmony.

The other man did not pull out at the end, but came inside Sherwood (or at least acted as if he did), arching his back and crying out with pleasure. A moment later Sherwood finished too, spilling between them. None of their hands were anywhere near his cock. Was that even possible?

John took a deep breath and swallowed, as the men kept touching and kissing each other a little longer in post-coital bliss. This… This wasn’t just a fantasy of masturbation where he could imagine himself in Sherwood’s place. This was about fucking the man. And his cock, leaking inside his pants, betrayed how much he had liked it.

The clip had ended and the titles were shown. He snorted at the second man’s name. ‘D. I. Dimcock’. Who came up with those things?

He got up awkwardly and took the dvd out of the player, then hid the box in his drawer, where Mary wouldn’t look. With a sigh he looked down at his trousers. A cold shower would do. He wasn’t going to give in to this.

After showering, he put the telly on again and told himself to focus on some crappy program. Half an hour later he gave up and went to bed.

 

…

 

“John… John? Are you okay?”

John moaned and rolled to his side. So good… Who’d have thought he would enjoy this so much... with a man?

“John. Look at me. Please.”

John’s eyes snapped open as he recognised Mary’s voice, echoing through the dream. “M-Mary… Hey…” His cock was throbbing and he closed his eyes for a moment. The dream had been so intense. Following almost the exact scenario of the video he had watched, but with him in the role of the ordinary man with Sherwood. The flat had been his own, and John had been inside him...

Mary put her hand on his forehead, obviously concerned. “Were you having another nightmare?” she asked. Then her eyes flickered down his body and she smiled. “Or did you miss me?”

John pushed himself upright, holding back a groan. “I… I need the bathroom… Sorry...” Avoiding Mary’s gaze, he slipped past her. This time there was no way he could deny himself a wank. After tugging his pyjamas out of the way, a few quick strokes were enough to make him come hard. He cleaned himself up and sank down on the toilet lid, hanging his head in defeat.

Eventually he composed himself enough to pull up his pants and return to the bedroom.

Mary had changed into her pyjamas and had gotten into bed. She did not look at him as she spoke: “I guess we need to have a talk. But not tonight. I’m too exhausted.”

John lay down behind her, chewing his lips. “I… It was just a… disturbing dream,” he said.

“No, John,” she said. “But we’ll talk about it later.”

“Right. Okay. Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, John.”

 

...

 

The next morning Mary was still in bed when John made himself breakfast. He wasn’t quite sure if she had been angry or not, and he hadn’t slept all that well. While he was eating, he opened Sherlock’s website on his laptop and clicked the file on _Coming Out_.

‘Coming Out _is intended for the man who has accepted his own attraction to other men, but who has not yet acted on it. A sort of idealised trial run. It is the story of a man who has his first homosexual encounter. And, since it is a fantasy, it shows the best possible first time such a man could wish for._

_The story starts out as our ‘hero’ enters a pub. Just another night on the town. Except he meets someone special._

_The actor for this part was chosen very carefully. The first criteria was that he should look common. Not stand out in any way. This is, of course, to make it easier for the viewer to identify with him. To think: this could be me._

_The other thing I looked for was for my co-star to be a novice. Not in adult entertainment in general, since a complete amateur would have been too unfamiliar with all the technical aspects of this kind of work, and that would have caused too much distraction. But someone who had never been with a man before. An experienced actor who had only worked with women, who had a very specific look and who would be not only willing, but eager, to do a scene with a man. It was a long search, but I do believe it paid off._

_Back to the story. We did not spend a lot of time on their meeting. Any further dialogue would have given our ‘hero’ a personality and a background, which would inevitably have separated him from the viewer. He must remain anonymous. So when we join these two men again, a connection has been made, mutual attraction established, and they are both determined to act on it._

_Some would question spending so much time on a kiss in an erotic film. But since this is the depiction of a first time, it is necessary to go slow. You don’t want such an experience to be rushed, but to savour every stage._

_The scene in the cab is just a brief interlude, but it does serve two very specific purposes. First of all, it is the first time our ‘hero’ has felt the touch of another man on his penis. This is a big step. So why let it happen in semi-public? Because most men who have reached the level of maturity at which they are prepared to embrace this new side of their sexuality will at one point have done something similar._

_Maybe not a handjob in the back of a cab. But a kiss that got out of hand at a party, mutual masturbation behind the bushes in the park or maybe even intercourse in the work place._

_The large majority of the target viewers will have at least one memory that will be triggered by watching this scene. They will have something in common with this young man, strengthening the notion that ‘this could be me’.’_

 

John didn’t read any further. This was impossible. How could that man know exactly what John would think and feel while watching the film? It was very disturbing to prove so predictable. ‘Sherwood’ had been playing him and he had reacted exactly as intended. As if he had no choice.

“G’morning…” Mary yawned, crossing the room on her way to the kitchen. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

John looked at the clock and quickly snapped his laptop shut. “Right, yes. Got a little distracted.” He got up and gave her a quick peck. “See you tonight, then.”

Mary took his hand and looked him straight in the eyes. “John,” she said. “We do need to have a talk, I think, but… I’m not mad. I just want you to know that.”

John nodded and swallowed. “Thank you. That’s, er, good to hear. I love you. I really do.”

“I know, John,” she said, smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

"No... Of course I don't have an appointment! I only just found out, didn't I?"

John looked up from the file he had been reading, frowning. What was all that noise in the corridor? With a sigh he got up and opened the door to see if anyone needed help.

Sherlock was looming over Thomas' desk, waving a sheet of paper in his face. "I need to see Doctor Watson. Now!" he roared, his voice far from its usual rumble.

For a moment, John stood open-mouthed. What was he doing here? There was no reason for him to be here. He wasn't supposed to come back for three months, and by then, surely John would have left... all this... behind.

He cleared his throat. "It's okay, Thomas. I've got time for him."

Sherlock whirled around at the sound of John's voice. "Doctor Watson," he said with a relieved sigh. "Good." Without another word, he strode right past John into his office.

"Er... Good afternoon." John followed him and closed the door behind him. "How can I help you, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock flung the paper at him and then began pacing. "Inconclusive? How can the test be inconclusive? Do you know what this means? They won't let me film on Friday! Do you know how long I've been planning that shoot? The set? The cast?"

John took the sheet and skimmed it. Ah. "Mr Holmes... I'm sorry. The values here are in a bit of a grey zone. I'm afraid they'll have to run this particular test again with a new sample."

"But that won't solve the problem now, will it?" Sherlock groaned. "I can't shoot and I can't reschedule." He slumped down in the chair, hiding his face in his hands. "I'm ruined."

John raised his eyebrows at the man in front of him. It seemed so... out of character, for him to break down like that. Every time John had seen him, in person or on the screen, he had seemed to have the situation under control.

"Surely it will be fine," he said. "I'm afraid the results won’t be in by Friday. But your company is insured for this kind of thing, isn't it?"

"They'll cover the price of hiring another actor," Sherlock said with a groan, straightening up abruptly. "But what good will that do? What other actor could play my part?"

"Er... None, I guess," John said honestly.

Sherlock sighed. "And yet I'll have to find one..." he said. He shook his head. "Can you recommend anyone?" But before John could answer, he went on. "No, of course not. You've only seen two of my films and skimmed a few others. Dimcock won't be up for it and you haven't seen enough of anyone else to form an opinion..."

"Sorry," John said. "I'm afraid there's not much I can do. I can make a call to ask if they can rush the extra test, but..."

Sherlock shook his head. "Don't bother. The chances are too small. I'm going to have to call it in and start looking for a replacement." He jumped up and began pacing. "I just can't believe it had to happen now."

John frowned a little. "I don't mean to be impolite, Mr Holmes, but... If you knew you were filming soon, why didn't you come in for a test earlier?"

Sherlock, who had been about to continue his rant, closed his mouth and glared at John. Then he smiled a little. "I did," he said. "Except my doctor wasn't there anymore. So I had to find a new one. Which meant doing some research. I can't have just any doctor, can I? Only the best is good enough."

John couldn't help but smile. Of course this man could be bloody charming when he wanted to. "Well, I'm flattered. You did say I was recommended to you, but I wonder who gave you so much faith in me."

"An old acquaintance," Sherlock said, waving it off as unimportant. "He was my lead cameraman for a few years. Now he works at a video store."

John thought for a moment, wondering which of his patients that could be. Then he remembered Mike and covered his eyes with his hand. "I'm going to kill him."

"That wouldn't be advisable," Sherlock said. "The risk is minimal, but still not worth it. Besides, he did us both a favour, didn't he?"

John moved his hand down so he could look over it. "I'm not so sure he did."

"No?" Sherlock smiled. "You regret watching my movies?"

John dropped his hand and studied Sherlock. His smile was warmer this time. And his eyes were fixed on John like... like Sherwood had looked at that young man when they met in the pub.

"I feel guilty about watching them," John admitted finally. "Or rather about liking them."

"Because of your wife." Sherlock nodded. "Yes. I know that is a common problem. But do you think your wife would object to you watching and enjoying heterosexual pornography? Would you object to your wife enjoying erotica?"

"We never really talk about that. I don't think I'd mind, but..." John shook his head. That wasn't the point. Only, he wasn't quite sure what was. "It's different," he sighed.

"Because you are finding men arousing," Sherlock said. "You feel like you are betraying her in some way."

"Well. That's not entirely... I mean. Never mind." John shook his head. "We're getting distracted. I should probably take that new sample and kick you out. There are other patients waiting, you know." He smiled up at Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve.

"If you ever do get the urge again, I recommend _Of One Mind_. It's a bit longer than the ones you've seen so far, but I think you're ready for it."

"Right," John said. "And you're starring in it, too?"

"Of course. And I wrote it. Mike didn't do the camera work, though. It's from after he stopped."

"I may, er, give it a go," John said, preparing to draw the blood.

"You do that," Sherlock said, then fished a card out of his pocket. "You can find it online. This code will let you watch it for free. Even download it. But I suggest you might want to change your password first."

"Oh. Thanks. Do you carry those around all the time?" John asked, a little amused.

"Brought one for you. Figured you'd seen _Coming out_ by now and were ready to move on."

 

…

 

The next few days were busy, and John was content to just spend his free moments with Mary, lounging in the sofa and calling a few early nights. And yet the small piece of paper with the code, which John had folded in two and put in his wallet, was always somewhere at the back of his mind.

On Sunday afternoon, Mary went out with Janine, and after playing some stupid game on his laptop for a bit, John felt himself grow bored. He still hadn’t talked to Mary. There had been some meaningful glances from her side, but it seemed that she wanted him to get it out when he was ready, and he… wasn’t. A few times he had tried, but either he hadn’t found the right words or he had been too comfortable and tired, unwilling to break that peace by telling Mary something which might upset her. He felt like such a coward. Maybe what he needed was a good kick up the arse to get him talking.

Actually… If he watched more porn, his guilt would only grow. Perhaps that would be enough to make him realise that he couldn’t keep this a secret any longer. Mary would be back after dinner, after a relaxing day, and they would have the rest of the evening to themselves. It might be the ideal time to tell her, if he had the nerve.

Tentatively he opened his wallet and found the paper. Surely Sherlock would only give him something good, something he was proud of.

He typed in the web address and needed two attempts at the code, mistaking a zero for an O at first. There were no ads on the page after that, making it feel safer to press the download button. It didn’t take long before it was complete and John could press play.

 

The opening credits looked like any ordinary film. Of the romantic type that both John and Mary tended to avoid. Only the names of the actors and the GOFFT logo indicated that Sherlock had not been taking the mickey.

A slow pan over a snow-covered square. Old buildings and naked trees. The soundtrack was a single violin, playing a slow, plaintive melody. The camera moved in on one of the buildings and then the scene changed to inside.

A library. Not a public one, judging by the type of people moving about. Probably a university one. Sherwood came into view, sitting at a desk, several large and old books open in front of him. He was wearing glasses and looked more earnest than usual, but the small frown and the frame of the glasses only made his eyes more striking. A man approached him. At first only his feet and legs were shown, but then the camera zoomed out and showed a short, lean, Asian man. Probably Chinese.

As he approached the desk, Sherwood looked up, took off his glasses and smiled.

“Professor Sherwood?” the Asian man asked. “I was told you might be able to help me.”

He had a thick accent, but as the two talked John found that it did not affect his understanding of the dialogue. The man gave his name as Yao and was apparently working on his PhD. Sherwood offered to help and the film went on to show a montage of them working together in the library, taking walks in the snowy city (which was not London) and having animated discussions over dinners in restaurants. It was almost 15 minutes into the film and nothing remotely erotic had happened yet. Unless you counted the fact that they were both quite pleasant to look at. But then it started. First a lingering touch of fingers as Yao handed Sherwood a paper. Then Sherwood leaning over the other’s shoulder, reading to him from a book on the table. He was very close and Yao was clearly not paying attention to the book. Sherwood caught his eyes and there was a long moment of breathless tension. Then they kissed.

It was hesitant and shy. Which only made it more interesting to watch. Like they were both giving in to an urge they had been fighting for too long. A feeling John knew all too well these days.

Their lips where still locked together as the scene changed. They were now in a posh flat and the kiss was deepening as their hands began to explore.

The sex scene that followed was more romantic than explicit, but still more graphic than would have been shown in a mainstream film, revealing that Yao was a lot more flexible than the other men John had seen in these kind of films so far. Then followed a lazy morning with lots of talking, touching and kissing. And more sex.

At one point, Yao was spreading his legs so wide that it almost looked painful, and when Sherwood started fucking him, actually rested his knees next to his own head. Combined with the sight of Sherwood’s pale back and arse, it was a lot hotter than it should be.

But before John could really be tempted to open his trousers, the next scene started, which, surprisingly, did not have Sherwood in it at all. It was a conversation between Yao and his supervisor about a problem with his latest publication being disputed. Yao was very upset since, it turned out, he might have to return to China if he didn’t get the article approved.

Afterwards he went to Sherwood who comforted him, which led to tearful but very passionate sex.

A long bit followed where it seemed the two had moved in together while they both worked to prove that Yao’s conclusion had been right and his article should be published.

There was an amusing scene in which Yao had some fun dripping honey on Sherlock’s chest and then licking it up, resulting in a rather sticky mess that sent them both giggling to the shower for more sex and a lot of kissing. It was all rather cute, seeing those two (acting) so obviously in love with each other, and at the same time arousing enough for John to open his fly.

Things almost didn’t work out and Yao had actually flown home after a heartbreaking goodbye at the airport. But then Sherwood found something in some obscure book, jumped a plane to China and fell into Yao’s arms, delivering the good news that he could finish his PhD after all. The celebratory sex seemed to be what the whole film had been leading up to, as it was the most spectacular yet.

Yao's flat seemed to be very traditional Chinese and it presented a lot of opportunities for him to show off his flexibility, curving over, around and even under furniture, and at one point actually taking hold of the curtains and hoisting himself up so that he could wrap his legs around Sherlock, pull him close and then sink down on him without either of them ever touching the other one with their hands.

What followed was the most intense shag yet and John slipped his hand into his pants.

The movie ended with the two men on the plane back to England, holding hands and smiling dreamily at each other. And yet, John was a little surprised as the end titles appeared. He had actually sat through the whole thing. All of 90 minutes in which there was so little plot. And so much intriguing gay sex.

He blinked, realising that Mary would be home within the hour. He’d better take care of matters. It wouldn’t do to be wound up and awkward while he wanted to start a difficult conversation. He closed the window on his laptop, got up and went for a hot shower.

 

When he came out, he felt refreshed. The film actually hadn’t made him feel as bad about himself as the previous ones, probably because there had been a story behind the porn this time. With real characters, rather than actors especially chosen to make the viewer put himself in their place.

Mary still wasn’t back, and as there were some leftovers in the fridge, he didn’t need to make anything new. He might as well read Sherlock’s analysis of the film to kill the time. As he clicked the file, he noticed the text was rather short for such a long movie.

 

 _Analysis of_ Of One Mind _. This movie is not intended to simply arouse the viewer, but aims to put gay sex into a normalised context. A simple romantic relationship with its ups and downs. The plot itself is, of course, straightforward. It would not do to have the story draw attention away from the characters. Two men enjoying each other intellectually, emotionally and physically. My co-star on this project was a man I had long wanted to work with. ZhiZhu is a star in Eastern Asia, both for his athletic ability and his rare talent as an actor._

_I admit that making this movie was as much to indulge my own interests as to create a marketable project. But quality should in itself be enough for the film to succeed, albeit with a smaller audience than my more mainstream projects._

 

…

 

When Mary came home, she was chatting happily about what she and Janine had been up to. After dinner, John made tea for both of them and sat down with her in the sofa, but gently took her book from her as she picked it up.

“Mary… I think I’ve been putting this off for long enough. We should talk, right?”

Taking a deep breath, Mary nodded. “I’m sorry, John,” she said. “It wasn’t kind of me to tease you so. Please forgive me.”

“No, it’s fine. I think I actually needed some time to… figure things out. Before I could tell you, I mean. So thank you for being so patient.”

“Of course, John,” she said. “And have you now? Got it sorted enough to talk about it?”

“I… I think.” John cleared his throat. “It all started with some dreams, actually. I have no idea where they came from. I definitely don’t have anything to complain about when it comes to our sex life. And I think people are usually much younger when they discover this kind of thing about themselves. But, well, in those dreams I was having sex with men. And the thought became… well, intriguing. And I’ve watched some stuff now, and… I think I need to admit to myself and to you that I can actually like men too. So… there.” He looked away, feeling a little self-conscious. Now he put it like that, it didn’t sound like such a big deal as it had done in his mind. He could only hope Mary would agree.

Mary smiled and nodded. “Thank you for telling me,” she said. “It means a lot to me that you trust me enough to tell me such a thing.”

John blinked. He had never even given it any thought if he would trust her with it or not. All he had wanted to avoid was to make her upset or hurt her in any way by his new discovery. “If I don’t trust my own wife, then who would I trust?” he asked. “I was always going to tell you. I only needed to have come to terms with it enough myself.”

“And I’m glad you did. And I want you to know that I am perfectly okay with it and… you don’t have to sneak around to watch your… stuff.” She giggled softly. “Of course you should continue exploring that side of your sexuality. And please… don’t feel bad about taking it out on me when it starts… getting to you. Heaven knows you’ve been reaping the benefits of some of my… stuff…”

John’s eyes widened. “Your stuff?”

“Well, there are some… stories… that I like to read. Online…” She blushed a little. “You never noticed? How I’d go straight from my computer and jump you?”

“I… No… I guess I was just… you know, happy to be jumped.” John let out a chuckle. “What kind of stories are they?”

“Transformative works,” she said, giggling again.

John blinked. “With… people changing shapes?”

“No, silly. Not transformers…” Mary laughed. “It’s a fancy word for when people base their stories on already existing works. You know… fanfiction…”

“Oh. I see. And they’re… hot?”

“Oh yes…” Mary’s eyes were twinkling. “Well, the good ones. A lot of them are just… fine. And some are very, very bad. But every now and then I come across a really good one. You see, the people writing these stories aren’t bound by the same rules as published authors and screenwriters. They can do anything. Have their characters do anything. And believe me, they do.”

John grinned. “Well… This is becoming a much more interesting talk than I had expected. Maybe you could, uhm, explain some more about ‘anything’ in the bedroom…”


	4. Chapter 4

When John's alarm went off the next morning, they shared a long, slow kiss and he told Mary again how grateful he was for her acceptance, and how much he loved her. Then they went about their day as usual, and even an old lady who thought she knew a lot more about medicine than him because she had read two short texts online, couldn't spoil his good mood.

It was such a relief that Mary knew now. And that she didn't mind. Of course he had already known that he had married the most amazing woman in the world, but she had proved it to him again last night. Twice, actually.

 

In the evening he and Mary were snuggling peacefully when she suddenly whispered in his ear: “I think now would be a good time to do some more exploring.”

As John did a double take, Mary’s eyes told him that she meant what he thought she meant. Blushing, he found his laptop and sat down with it at the kitchen table. He searched for a new Sherwood video right away, unwilling to lose time by testing another actor's skills. Soon he found one of a blowjob, made from the point of view of the receiver. Apparently it was quite an old clip, as Sherwood looked like he could be in his early twenties, and it hadn’t been produced by GOFFT. At first it felt a bit weird to be watching such a young man, but clearly it was the same Sherwood, who already knew perfectly well where his talents lay. The film showed a lot of shots of him looking up into the camera, his lips wrapped around a thick cock, and was only 4 minutes and 15 seconds long. John had chosen it _because_ it was so short - he didn't really need anything more to turn him on after Mary had whispered in his ear like that. By the time it was finished, he was in quite a hurry to drag her to the bedroom.

 

...

 

"Oi," Mary snapped in a strange deep voice. "Wake up, Watson."

John groaned and tried to get his eyes open. It didn’t immediately work, but then he realised how Mary sounded. Like she was angry about something. What had he done now?

He opened his eyes and saw her standing by the foot of the bed, wearing one of John's suits, including his favourite tie. She had painted on a moustache with what looked like mascara and combed her hair back. And although she was looking stern, her eyes were sparkling with laughter and more than a little mischief.

John snorted. “What…?”

Barely suppressing a giggle, she began undoing the tie slowly. "I hope you’re ready for me, Watson," she growled. "Because I'm gonna have you."

John covered his mouth with his hand to hide the laughter bubbling up, following her hands with his eyes. “Really? … sir?”

"Oh yes," Mary said, not quite keeping a straight face as she knelt on the bed and then began crawling slowly towards John. "I'm gonna have you good..."

John giggled as he reached out to open a few shirt buttons. "Nice boobs, sir."

"Hey..." Mary snapped in her own voice, pouting a little. "I was in character..."

"Sorry," John laughed, dropping his hands.

Mary laughed too, then took off the loosened tie and used it to tie John's wrists together. "Maybe this can make you behave," she purred, pushing his arms up above his head before bending down to kiss him.

John felt himself blush. This was, yeah, hot. Even if Mary was clearly taking the piss. And - fortunately - not looking very masculine at all.

"We'll see about that, sir," he muttered, before leaning up into another kiss.

 

…

 

Mary rolled over with a deep, exhausted sigh. “I thought…” she gasped, “that _I_ was supposed to have _you_.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what you were waiting for,” John said lazily, turning his head to look at her.

“I guess I lack the equipment,” Mary mused. “Though if you really want, I guess I could get a…”

“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” John said quickly.

“Thank god…” Mary said. “I really don’t think I could handle one of those.”

“Me neither.” John giggled. “I liked your little act, though.”

“Yeah?” She giggled too. “I was afraid you’d just laugh at me.”

“Well, I did. But that only made it more fun.” He grinned.

“Fun’s good, right?” she said, turning so she could kiss his shoulder

“Very good.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer.

Then his phone buzzed on the nightstand and he groaned, burying his face in her hair.

Mary pushed him away. “Get that,” she said. “I have to go clean up anyway. I can’t walk around all day with a moustache… And neither can you, by the way.”

John snorted. “Yeah… Maybe not.” He stole a last, quick kiss before he rolled over and grabbed his phone. He frowned as he read the message.

‘ _I need your help. - SH_ ’

It was from an unknown number, but… he did know someone with those initials. How on Earth had he gotten his private phone number?

‘ _Are you okay? You can make an appointment for tomorrow_ ’, he answered.

‘ _I need your help. Now. - SH’_

Another text followed immediately after, giving an address in Baker Street.

John frowned. It sounded like this was urgent. He really hadn’t planned to run after patients on his day off, but… Sherlock didn’t seem the kind of man who’d call him in for nothing.

‘ _On my way, but may take a while. Morning traffic. What’s wrong?_ ’ he texted. Then he got up and walked to the bathroom.

“I’ll be done in a minute,” Mary said from the shower when he opened the door. “Who was it?”

“Patient,” John said vaguely. “It sounded urgent, so I don’t think I’ll have time for a shower.” He grabbed a cloth and held it under the tap of the sink.

“Oh?” Mary said, pulling the curtain back to look at him. “Do you do house calls now?”

John shrugged. “I’ll be back soon. This is supposed to be our day.” He started dabbing at the mascara smudges around his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mary said, disappearing behind the curtain again. “Could you bring back some milk?”

 

…

 

John sat drumming his fingers nervously while he was driving. Sherlock still hadn’t answered. Perhaps it would have been better to send an ambulance to the address he had given him, but then again, he could have ordered one himself in the time it took to text John. So perhaps it wasn’t _that_ bad. John only hoped he could get inside somehow if Sherlock had passed out.

Finally he arrived in Baker Street, slowing down so he could read the numbers on the houses. There it was. Number 223. But that couldn’t be right. He parked the car in front of the house next to the café and got out, frowning. He had expected that Sherlock had sent him his own address. But perhaps he had hit the wrong number on his phone in his bad state, as 223 definitely was the small sandwich bar called Speedy’s.

He decided he might as well enter the café to ask if anyone there knew where Sherlock lived. But as he went in, he spotted the actor right away, sitting at a table in the corner. There was a cup of coffee in front of him and he looked quite well.

John strode over, confused. “Mr Holmes?”

Sherlock's eyes were closed, but he raised one hand, making a vague gesture at the chair opposite his. "Sit," he said.

John kept standing behind the chair, looking down at Sherlock. Surely he wasn't trying to sleep in the café. But he didn't even seem to notice that his order wasn't followed, so finally John said: "Well?"

"Is there a way to speed up the healing of bruises to the skin?" Sherlock asked. "Or something to be done in advance to prevent light trauma from bruising?" Then he opened his eyes and one eyebrow shot upwards. "Oh... You told her."

John stood staring at him. "What?"

"Bruises," Sherlock said, sounding a little annoyed. "Healing. You're a doctor. You must know stuff like this."

John blinked. "I was the other side of London. You called me in to talk about bruises? You could just phone me. On my phone, of which you've mysteriously found the number anyway. I was assuming this was important." He crossed his arms.

"It _is_ important," Sherlock said, gesturing impatiently for John to sit down. "I need to know now. I'm putting a lot of money in this. My own money."

John sat down, but shook his head. "I don't usually do house calls, you know. I thought something was seriously wrong. You can't just call me in for this kind of thing. Perhaps your old doctor had the time for that, but I don't."

"Oh, come on, John. Clearly you were finished," Sherlock said, scanning John's face. "And you've been so active that you needed a break anyway. I did you a favour."

" _What_ are you talking about?"

"Filming," Sherlock said. "The shoot on Friday went, as expected, horribly wrong. Which means I can't get out of doing this other project for my boss. But I've also been given the opportunity to reshoot my own project. Only, it will actually be my _own_ project. I will be producing it myself. Financing it. It would be a great opportunity. Maybe a chance to start my own label. But I can't do it if I'm still marked from the other thing."

"And... why would you be... marked?"

"Impact play," Sherlock said. "Possibly clamps too. Definitely restraints." He gestured to the man behind the counter. "Can we have some more coffee?" he called.

John cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward about having this conversation out in the open, but the man who brought their cups either hadn't heard anything or didn't mind.

"Don't you have, er, tricks for that in the business? So you don't really need to... feel it all?"

"I never feel it," Sherlock said. "But we can't fake the actual blows or the tightness of the ropes. That would be visible, since the skin and flesh would not react correctly."

"Right. And it has to be so tight that it leaves bruises? I mean, isn't it more erotic if it doesn't look _painful_?" John glanced at his own wrist, thinking of the tie that had been around it that morning.

"I'm afraid your wife is not the target audience of this film," Sherlock said, not bothering to hide his smirk. "The object of this _is_ pain. Pain, humiliation and control."

John frowned. "Do you... enjoy that kind of thing?"

"Of course I don't," he huffed. "But it's part of the job. More and more people seem to be into that stuff. At least watching it."

"Right. It's just, from your website it almost seemed like you like your job," John said, feeling a little awkward.

"Of course I like my job," Sherlock said. "Why else would I be doing it?"

John shrugged. "You just said..."

"I like the challenge of my job. The satisfaction of knowing I have read my audience correctly and given them precisely what they needed. The pleasure on screen is acting, John. And so is the pain." Sherlock's smile turned crooked. "Was it really that believable?"

"Right." John cleared his throat, trying not to think of the moment Sherlock looked straight into the camera in _Awakening_. Of course he hadn’t actually _believed_ that. It just seemed he kept asking the wrong questions today. Or perhaps it was just hard to catch up with Sherlock on an empty stomach. "If I'm really just here to give advice on bruises, I hope you don't mind if I order some breakfast. I'm starving."

"Of course," Sherlock said. "Go right ahead. So do you think it's doable? I need to be ready to film again within 72 hours."

 

As John ate his breakfast, they talked about cotton wool, skin-coloured bandages, gels to make bruises disappear faster and concealing creams. Sherlock kept asking questions about bruising, sometimes so specific that John had to admit he didn’t know the answer. Still, it was a lot easier to talk about it in a professional way, seeing the subject as a medical question rather than imagining what Sherlock would be facing.

"So... You've never had bruises like that before?" John asked finally, scraping the last bite of scrambled eggs from his plate. "I mean, I saw this one video and it seems like you've been in the business for a long time..."

"About a decade," Sherlock said. "And yes, there's been a bit of bruising from time to time. But usually I can schedule around it. Spend the time while I'm healing, preparing my next project. But this time I'm not in control of timing. There is only one chance of getting the exact set, actors and crew together. And I cannot get my boss to reschedule the other thing."

John nodded. "So what's your own project like? It sounds like it's quite important to you."

"It's an unusual idea," Sherlock said, smiling as he seemed to picture it before his inner eye. "It's a single scene. Just one long shot but with a moving camera. Like _Awakening._ But not solo. And not in a bed."

"Sounds interesting," John said. "Will it be the same style as _Awakening_ , too?" He already found himself growing curious. That first clip still was his favourite of what he had seen of Sherlock's work.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. _Awakening_ was about sharing an intimate experience with the viewer. This film will be..." He paused as if looking for the words, "like watching a dream unfold. Witnessing something not quite real."

John raised his eyebrows. "I have to say you couldn't film most of my dreams in one shot. They usually don't make much sense."

"Neither will this," Sherlock said. "And it will, of course, be a very long shot. We are aiming for twenty minutes."

John snorted. "So are you actually going to tell me what will happen, or will you keep finding ways to make me more curious?"

Sherlock began to scowl at him, but then laughed.

"Well, I do like to watch you squirm, but okay. Three men, in a pool, having more or less any kind of sex imaginable under those conditions. All of it under water. No one will break the surface for the duration of the scene."

"Wow," John said. "That sounds amazing, but... How are you going to pull it off?"

Sherlock launched into a long and complicated explanation involving carefully planned camera angles and clear plastic tubes. The more he spoke, the more eager he got, gesticulating and even drawing on a couple of napkins.

John couldn't help being amazed, and told Sherlock as much. "Really, you could have gone into physics or something. How did you end up doing this?"

"I _was_ at uni. Doing chemistry and psychology." Sherlock shrugged. "I got bored and needed something to keep me occupied. So I responded to this ad about a modelling job. I figured it would be a useful experience. Then two things happened..."

"It turned out not to be just a modelling job?" John guessed.

"Oh no," Sherlock said. "That part was exactly as I had expected. And, as also expected, I was very, very good at it. So good, in fact, that the man behind the camera would not believe it was my first time. The manager offered me a steady job before the pictures had even been printed." He laughed. "But the very best part... The issue hit the streets the very same week my brother landed himself a long awaited promotion. Working for the government. Watching him frantically trying to remove any conceivable evidence that we were related... Best week I've ever had."

John chuckled. "I can imagine."

"So I did some more shoots. Just solo work. And never full frontal. But then my boss decided he wanted to try his hand at movies too and offered me the lead in his very first one. Which was a very clever thing of him to do. Soon we were dominating the local market and I didn't have time for school anymore."

"Impressive," John said. "Wasn't it a bit of a large step from modelling to... you know, having sex in front of people?"

"Not really," Sherlock said. "It was just a job. We'd talk about what kind of experience we wanted the viewer to have and then we'd create that. It was easy. And then, when I made the website, it became really interesting."

"I don't think many people would think that easy," John said, smiling.

"I don't think many people could do what I do," Sherlock said, smirking. "You've seen my work and you've seen other stuff. What do you think?"

"I think that you're right," John said honestly. "All the other stuff I've seen of that first compilation was just ridiculous. Bad acting, improbable situations... They might be good-looking, but that's just not enough. At least... it turned out it wasn't for me. Yours, on the other hand... Well. It's a bit awkward to tell you, but... it was brilliantly made. As a viewer, you could just see that someone had been putting a lot of thought into it, rather than just going at it and filming that."

Sherlock's smile widened. "Nothing awkward about that," he said. "I know it's brilliant, but not many will acknowledge that so readily."

"Yeah. And that's why I wonder, actually..." John looked up at him, smirking. "'The Science of Seduction'? Was that really the best you could come up with?"

Sherlock shrugged, his smile fading a little. "It's accurate," he said.

John chuckled. "I guess it is. Sorry, just teasing you."

For a moment Sherlock seemed confused, but when John laughingly said that Mary had been a bad influence on him, the actor moved on to deduce how John had met her (work), exactly how overqualified John was for his job, what his rank had been in the army, and how the fact that he didn’t get along with his sister might be part of the reason why he hadn’t discovered his bisexuality sooner. The only thing Sherlock really got wrong was that it had taken John six months to propose to Mary, rather than the three he had guessed.

When John glanced at his watch, more out of habit than interest, he gasped. They had been talking and talking, and he hadn’t noticed how much time had passed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, getting to his feet. “I should have been home ages ago.”

“Oh…” Sherlock looked up at him, slightly taken aback. “Of course. Well… Thanks for the tips. I’ll do some research, but I may have more questions. If that’s okay?"

"Sure," John nodded. "But just text me the question next time, okay? I'll decide if it's worth running all the way across London." He smiled at Sherlock, for a second forgetting that he was on his way out.

Sherlock smiled back and nodded. "I will," he said.

"Okay. It was nice talking to you. And good luck with all the filming."

 

…

 

As he drove home, John sat chuckling a little to himself. Sherlock was quite the character, luring him straight to the other side of London to talk about a film he’d only start making in over four weeks. And yet John found he wasn’t annoyed. While talking with the actor had been challenging at first, because he seemed to have several conversations running in his mind at once, it hadn’t taken long to get used to it, and then John realised that he quite liked the man. Sherlock didn’t bother with politeness, but went ahead and asked what he wanted. That confidence was just on the right side of the line separating it from arrogance, and Sherlock had a right to be proud of his work, too. All things considered, John wouldn’t mind at all if Sherlock sent him another question to be answered outside the clinic. Though preferably not on a day he had promised to spend with Mary.

 

John was quietly praising himself for not forgetting to make a quick stop for milk as he opened the door. “I’m home! Sorry it took me so-”

Mary was sitting on the sofa, clutching a tissue with which she had clearly been dabbing her red eyes. She sniffed as she looked up at John, and he quickly put down the milk and ran over to her.

“God, Mary, I’m so sorry. I know this was supposed to be our day…” Tentatively he sat down and put a hand on her shoulder, feeling a little confused. It seemed unlike Mary to get so upset by something like this, but perhaps he _had_ been asking a little too much of her tolerance these past few weeks.

"Oh John..." she gasped, wrapping her arms around him. "It was so beautiful. So sad and beautiful."

John reflexively held her closer. "It... What?"

"Well... Not all sad..." she muttered, wiping her nose. "They were so cute and so in love and then when they thought they couldn't... Oh John...." She made a vague sort of gesture towards the table, then clung to him again. "I'm sorry. I'm being silly, but... It was just so sweet and sad... I didn't know..."

John still didn't have a clue what was going on. Then he followed the movement of her hand with his eyes and realised that it was _his_ laptop on the table. On which the end credits of _Of One Mind_ were still running. "Oh god..." he muttered. Sherlock had actually _told_ him to change his password when he gave him that code. Why hadn't he done so?

"Listen, they're not all like this... Usually it's just sex..."

Mary was silent for a moment, then she snorted. "I know..." she said. "I've seen porn before. Just never... Never like this... That was amazing. It had a plot. Believable characters. And the acting... The acting was like..." She laughed. "Well, not Oscar-material, but bloody brilliant."

John sat up and blinked. "You... You actually watched that whole thing? And you _liked_ it?"

"Of course I did," she said. "I mean... I was just going to borrow your laptop because mine is updating and then I saw the file and... well... I was curious. And it's a really good movie, John. And so hot..." Then she frowned. "But that pale one. Professor Sherwood... I'm pretty sure I've seen him before."

"Have you? He's made a lot of movies, so, er, maybe..." He felt himself blush.

Mary thought for a moment. "No... In person..." Then she gasped. "John! He's one of your patients. He was in last week."

"Oh... Yeah..." John cleared his throat. "He actually was the one who gave me the download code for this thing."

"Really?" Mary said, smiling eagerly. "So did he just walk in and tell you he was a porn star?" She giggled.

"Erm... No... It's worse. I already knew." John looked away. "I had seen one of his movies and... Well, it was awkward. I asked him if he was still comfortable with me being his doctor, of course. But he was quite professional about it. And then he recommended that film to me."

"You'd already seen him?" Mary laughed. "I can imagine how that went. How is he? Is he just as gorgeous in real life?"

John was nodding before he realised it, and felt his ears colour. "Yeah, he's... I mean, he's a bit arrogant, but he's... nice. Really clever. Yeah."

“So you like him?” she asked.

“He’s a patient,” John said quickly.

Mary nodded. “Of course he is,” she said. “And you like him.”

John didn’t meet her eyes. What was he supposed to say to that?

“I want to meet him. When’s he coming in again?”

“What?” John gave her a confused look.

“I want to meet him,” she repeated. “Tell him I like his work. And get a better look.”

John laughed. “You’re unbelievable. Since when are you so much into watching guys going at it, then?”

“Oh John…” Mary said, chuckling as she reached for his laptop. “Let me tell you a little something about fanfiction…”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains possibly triggering content, concerning dubious consent and PTSD.

John’s first experience with fanfiction - for a movie he really liked, though the short story showed the main characters in a very different light - was quite the eye opener. Literally, for he sat at the laptop with his eyebrows raised for quite a while after he had finished it, wondering what the hell he had just been reading. Mary had been giggling a lot at his reactions, but now she seemed happy to take his mind off the rather disturbing plot twist.

“Does this mean you want to watch along next time I put on something like that?” John asked later.

"If you find anything like _Of One Mind_ again. But I've seen some other stuff before and most of it's just... bad..."

 

In the next few days, John found a couple more short clips, in all of which Sherwood was once again the most interesting person to watch. Then, because he felt he should support the brilliant actor, he decided to buy a film via a link on _The Science of Seduction_. After reading a few summaries, he chose one in a military setting, intrigued what Sherlock would have made out of that.

The scene was a typical army barracks. Typical as in how they were shown in American films, anyway. Rows of very uncomfortable looking beds with very white sheets and coarse green blankets. A handful of young men were milling around the room or resting on the bed, dressed in small bits of uniform. Most had their chest bare. Some were just in tight white pants. A few had on combat trousers or even a vest. But all of them were wearing heavy boots.

Most of the men had very short blond or ginger hair, but there was also one with very dark brown skin and a completely shaved head. As the camera moved around the room, John spotted Sherwood, wearing trousers and a vest, lying on a bed in the corner furthest from the door. He was wearing glasses (different ones than in _Of One Mind_ , with a thin metal frame) and reading a thick, tattered paperback.

Then a large man in full uniform walked in and as the camera zoomed in, John recognised him as the scarred one from that garage scene on the black and blue compilation. As he called to attention, all the young men rushed to take up position at the end of their beds. Sherwood was, of course, the last one ready and the officer immediately focused on him.

After some obligatory verbal abuse, the colonel - that really did not make sense, but it was what his insignia showed - announced that if Sherwood didn’t get his ‘shit together’ they were all going to pay. Then the man stood back to watch the others gang up on Sherwood to teach him a lesson.

He was shoved around a bit and then they had him on his knees, taking turns at fucking his mouth. The situation was disgusting, but Sherwood made it bearable by subtle signs that he was, in fact, not objecting to this treatment. For a moment John thought they weren’t using protection, but then he spotted one of those ‘almost-invisible’ condoms on one of the men and after looking carefully, he was pretty sure they were all wearing them.

And then they weren’t, because now they were all ejaculating over Sherwood’s face and hair, making quite a mess of him. John pulled a face, wondering what was supposed to be so hot about that. So far all this film did was repel him.

As Sherwood knelt on the floor, looking dazed and out of breath, the colonel walked over to him to inspect the ‘damage’. He was about to leave when he caught a defiant gleam in Sherwood’s eyes. So he ordered the others back to work and stepped back. They were getting cruel and as they stripped Sherwood, he received several slaps and even punches. Then they carried him to the bathroom, tied his wrists to a showerhead and proceeded to fuck him so hard and for so long that John was getting seriously worried. In between, Sherwood would receive more hits, especially to his thighs and arse, but he never cried out or even winced.

By the end they turned on the water and as it washed the filth off Sherwood, several of the others moved in to kiss him hard and possessively, indicating that this was not the first time they’d had fun with the ‘bitch of the barrack’.

The only reason John still hadn’t switched it off, in spite of feeling revolted, was that he expected it to become better any moment. Sherwood would do something clever to turn the situation around and it would become the same quality as his other videos. But now it looked like this really was the end.

It seemed so unlike Sherlock to make something so disturbing. Or at least, something that was disturbing in _this_ way. Why would the self-confident man allow others to hurt him like that? He had told John that they had ways to make it look more painful than it was, but those punches did seem to have an impact. And so many men taking advantage of one submissive party - it made John’s stomach turn. He wished he had never put this on. Clearly it had been made by people who had _no_ idea what it was like to be in an actual war situation. And of course that was not what this film had been about, at all, but to John this whole thing was repulsive. Shocking, even.

 

By the time Mary was back from Cath’s, John was still in a grim mood. He hadn’t looked for any other videos, or done much more at all than staring into nothingness, actually.

The moment she saw him, she frowned. “What’s wrong, love?” she said, hurrying over to wrap her arms around him.

“Nothing. It was just…” He sighed. “I watched a video. One of Sherwood’s.”

“Oh… Not good?” she said. “You look horrible…”

“It was in a military setting.” John swallowed, his eyes burning. This really shouldn’t affect him so. It was just a bloody porn video, for god’s sake. But after his initial anger because of the image the makers had sketched of military life, thinking of the circumstances those soldiers were supposed to be living in had brought back all too many memories. “It wasn’t even realistic.” His voice was trembling.

Mary took both of his hands and looked him in the eyes. “It’s okay, John,” she said. “Come here.” Slowly she led him from the table over to the sofa, where she sat down with him. She wrapped her arms around him and just held him close.

John had the feeling he hadn’t blinked in hours. His mind was blank and he just stared at her shoulder, feeling miserable. “They all… hm.” He took a deep breath. “They all just used him. They were beating him as though there weren’t enough violence already, in a situation like that. They just…” He was breathing too quickly.

“It was just a film, John,” Mary whispered. “They were all actors. He was in on it. Had agreed to it all. You know that.”

John nodded, trying to calm himself. “I shouldn’t have…”

“Probably not,” Mary agreed. “But you did and…” She shrugged. “It will be okay. You’ll see.”

“I’m sorry.” John sat back a little and already regretted losing her embrace, but he couldn’t ruin her evening by losing it like this. He had chosen to watch it. It was his own fault. He should have realised that it could trigger him. He was stupid for having expected something completely different out of it.

“Oh John…” Mary said, putting an arm around his shoulder. “I’m not blaming you. You couldn’t have known what it was like… What would happen. I’m just saying that now we’ll deal with this. Together. Okay?”

John nodded, unable to speak, and pulled her close, clinging to her. “Thank you,” he whispered after a moment.

 

Mary brought him tea and his favourite biscuits - although it took a while before he touched the latter - and put on a bland comedy for him before she returned to his side to snuggle. Soon he was able to smile again, and they fell asleep on the sofa together. When he woke up in the morning, John was somewhat surprised but mainly very relieved that the night had passed without nightmares.

 

After that, John had had it with the porn. There were just too many bad films. He had thought that Sherwood’s work was different, but apparently he had just been lucky when he saw those first clips. He still thought of Sherlock regularly, secretly hoping he’d get to talk to him again - partly because then he could ask him why he had made that thing with the colonel, _Disciplinary Action_. Why he would put his talents into something that was not only bad, but also wrong.

Then, over a week later, he had another erotic dream. He was meeting Sherlock at Speedy’s, but suddenly the scene had changed and he had him up against the wall. When he woke up, he rolled over to Mary’s side of the bed and kissed her rather desperately.

Mary returned his kiss sleepily, but suddenly pulled away. "John," she said, sitting up and turning on the lights. "Are you okay? Is that thing you saw still bothering you?"

"No, no, that's not it," John said, gently stroking her arm, unwilling to lose her touch.

She reached out to stroke his cheek. "What is it then?" she said. "Can you tell me?"

"I was having another... you know, dream." He gave her a meaningful look.

"Oh..." She smiled and lay down again, facing him. "A good one?"

"Yes, but... That's the problem, isn't it?" John shook his head. Why couldn't he just have this kind of dreams about Mary? Why did it always have to be Sherwood? Even after a video that had made him feel so miserable?

"No," Mary said. "It's not a problem. You have just discovered this thing about yourself. So of course it will take up a lot of your focus. Both when you're awake and asleep." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Have you found some new movies? After that bad one?"

John shook his head again. "I'm not sure it's the right way. Not after that last one."

"That was one bad film, John. And now you know what to avoid," Mary said. "Don't forget how you felt after watching that other one. The one with Sherwood and that cute Chinese bloke. And I know you've seen others. They weren't all bad, were they?" She leaned in and gave him a soft kiss. "You owe it to yourself, John, to keep exploring this. Figure it out."

John wrapped his arms around her and sighed.

 

…

 

When Mary left for a refresher course the next evening, she told John to watch something good, with such an exaggerated wink that he was still laughing as she closed the door behind herself. Yet as he sat down with his laptop, he still wasn’t sure if he’d follow her advice. Hesitantly, he opened Sherlock’s website, staring at the home screen for a while. Although he wanted to know quite badly why the actor had deigned to make that military film, he hadn’t opened its analysis yet. And he still didn’t want to. It would describe everything that had happened all too vividly, and… no. If he wanted to know, he’d have to ask the man himself.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to actually ask him what he’d recommend John to watch next. But on the other hand, it felt weird to pick up his phone and call a man he barely knew, who was his patient, and whom he had admired and wanked to a couple of times. All while his wife was out. God, no.

But Mary felt it’d do him good if he explored the subject of his returning dreams, and sometimes she did seem to know him better than he knew himself. And if he could find something like _Awakening_ , he’d actually enjoy to relieve some stress on his own tonight. So he clicked the tab with the links to Sherwood’s work and scrolled down to skip the earliest films, where the man would simply look too young. Somewhere halfway down the list, something caught his eye that made him frown.

_‘Sherwood & The Woman. Know When You Are Beaten. Adler, 2007.’_

Sherwood & The Woman… Every film and short clip of Sherlock’s that John had seen had only involved men. He had assumed that Sherlock only ever made gay porn, so what was this? Before he had thought of more options than that perhaps it involved a drag queen, he had opened the link, and it turned out that The Woman was indeed a woman. Next to the title and a short summary of the film, there was a picture of her face, carefully made up, wearing blood red lipstick, and giving the camera a defiant look.

John hesitated. Watching this wouldn’t get him any further in the discovery of his bisexuality, but he was very curious to see what Sherwood would be like around a woman. And straight porn was a more familiar area to John. Surely it would be more comfortable to watch.

He decided he’d see if there was a way to watch it for free, somewhere. That way he could find out if it was any good, and if it was, he’d come back and buy the legal version. But after he had supported _Disciplinary Action_ , not knowing that he wouldn’t approve of its contents, he wanted to be more careful about actually spending money on this kind of things.

 

It turned out that _Know When You Are Beaten_ was actually quite popular, and there was no real need to download it, as it was streamed on a lesbian community website. For a moment this confused John, but then he read that The Woman, whose real name was Irene Adler, usually made films as a lesbian dominatrix. So a gay and a lesbian actor had worked together to make _Know When You Are Beaten_. This became more intriguing by the minute.

John returned to the stream, shrugged and made it play in full screen mode.

After the titles - all dark purple and black and for some reason featuring all kinds of angle shots and zooms of a riding crop, while lounge music was playing - it became even more obvious why he had found this on a lesbian site. In a spacious room with cream-coloured, expensive-looking wallpaper, two women were snogging passionately. One of them was of course Irene, dark-haired and apparently completely naked, though not much was visible behind the taller blonde girl, who was wearing a short black skirt and a white shirt, that made Irene’s clawlike red nails stand out even more as they were pressing into her back. The camera moved around them a little as they kept biting and sucking at each other’s lips, showing a little more of Irene’s body. They sure were good looking and the kissing was rather hot, but John wondered how Sherwood was involved in all this. The girls looked like they could keep each other entertained quite well.

Finally Irene stepped back, but she kept her hand lightly on the other girl’s arm.

“Mistress?” the blonde whispered breathlessly, and Irene smirked up at her, looking positively evil.

“Kate,” she said.

John sighed, almost missing that the camera lowered to the height of Irene’s breasts. The first word of a film being ‘Mistress’ didn’t bode well, where he was concerned. But on the other hand, this was tender and slow. Nothing like _Disciplinary Action_.

Irene leaned in for another soft kiss, before Kate spoke again: "Tell me what I can do for you, Mistress."

"Oh, for now you can just watch, sweetheart."

The tall girl obediently stepped back and the camera followed Irene, who was walking over to a bed. John found he regretted this choice a little, as Kate was more his type. But then the camera moved up, so that the entire expanse of the bed was shown.

Sherwood was lying there, completely naked, handcuffed to the bed's headboard. His legs seemed to be fastened too. He was struggling against his restraints and looked as though he wasn't pleased at all to be there. Yet for a while, John was distracted from Sherwood’s knitted eyebrows, as the camera slowly panned over that pale, long body, showing how the muscles in his stomach tensed as he pulled to get loose.

Then the camera returned to Irene, who had picked up a riding crop. John groaned in annoyance. Not this. He couldn't stand the idea that she would start beating him. But as Irene stepped even closer to the bed, she let the whip come down very softly on Sherwood's chest. Sherwood's muscles relaxed as she smoothed it over his skin, around and then over his nipples, and John licked his lips. This was actually quite an interesting way to show exactly how unbelievably beautiful Sherwood was. The tall man's eyes had fluttered shut, and for a while the naked woman was just petting him with the whip, a smirk around her red lips.

"Whatever will we do with him, Kate?" she asked finally.

"Anything you want, Mistress," the answer came, and Kate stepped into view, slowly unbuttoning her shirt. "Lucky boy..."

"But he'll never want to admit how much he enjoyed it," Irene purred, pressing her lips together in a pout as the riding crop came dangerously close to Sherwood's flaccid cock, still without being lifted from the skin. "Even though he'll never forget that he was beaten by a woman..."

At that point Sherwood's eyes opened and he looked up at her with an unmistakable glare. It was there for less than a second before his eyes glazed over and he was back in character, but John pressed escape and closed the tab. He didn't need to see what that woman would be doing to Sherwood. How she would be _with_ him. It was disturbing enough to come to terms with the fact that he was more attracted to the man than to either of the two women in this video. If she would start hurting him... John hadn't forgotten what a mess he had been after that last film. Besides, he found he really didn't want the woman to touch Sherwood. Clearly he didn't actually want to be there, playing a role or not, so she should leave him the fuck alone. John shook his head and stood up, pacing the room to clear his head.

This was in no way what Mary had suggested he’d do tonight. She had told him to explore his attraction to men further, and yet John kept returning to that one same guy. Just because he had experience with his videos - but that was no longer an excuse. He had now encountered a second one that was most definitely not his cup of tea. There must be other good porn out there, made by other people. He certainly shouldn’t focus on Sherwood just because he had met him. That’d only make things awkward the next time he saw him. Perhaps he kept dreaming about him just because he had questions, rather than because he was attracted to him specifically. Maybe it would help if he knew why Sherlock had allowed those ‘soldiers’ to use him like that, so he could finally put it out of his mind.

But he couldn’t just ask him to meet. Sherlock had only contacted him earlier because he needed a medical point of view. Afterwards, he hadn’t texted again, and why would he? They weren’t friends. It was completely understandable if the actor wasn’t interested in having a pint with his doctor. So if John wanted to talk to him before his next appointment at the clinic, he should have something worthwhile to talk about.

He grabbed his phone and thought for a moment. Then he typed: ' _I've got another question concerning the safety of that pool scene. Could we meet tomorrow night?_ '

He put down the phone and went to put on water for a strong cup of tea. Before it was boiling, his phone buzzed.

_‘Of course. - SH’_

John raised his eyebrows and went back to see how he had asked his question. He rolled his eyes. ‘ _So will we?_ ’

The answer arrived before John could even put his phone down. ‘ _Yes. - SH_ ’

John snorted. Well, that was settled. He had sort of expected a suggestion for a time and a place to meet, but then, this was Sherlock. And he didn’t feel like disturbing him further to ask, if the actor made it so clear that he didn’t have time for long answers. Probably he’d send him a text sometime tomorrow for the specifics.

 

John poured himself tea and sat down again in front of his laptop. He still felt like watching something, but only if he knew it would be good. Yet it wouldn’t do to put on _Awakening_ again. He knew by now that he was attracted to Sherwood, so he really should have a look at something else. For about an hour he browsed different clips of gay porn, but it was all pretty similar to that first clip in the gym with Al and Richie - so bad that it became funny, and later frustrating, though John never gave them more than a few minutes to prove themselves. He refined his search to find some other solo acts, but soon he was starting to believe that Sherwood really was the only one who knew what he was doing. Feeling angry with himself for wasting a whole evening like this, he returned to Sherlock’s website and found out that _Awakening_ could be watched online for free. He sat biting at his lips for a moment. He _had_ done some exploring now, even if it hadn’t taught him anything new about himself. And it was too late to put on a proper film. He could read a bit before bed, but didn’t really feel like it. So why couldn’t he just grant himself a treat?

He nodded to himself, got up, took his laptop with him to the bedroom and undressed quickly. Then he sat down on the bed and put the laptop in front of him. The angle made the beginning shots of the clip seem even more as though he were really looking down on those black sheets. John lazily followed the slow revelation of Sherwood’s pale body, of which he had now seen so much more, and yes. There was the earlier excitement again, that feeling that none of the other actors could rouse in him. Knowing that the film wouldn’t just end in disappointment gave him the chance to appreciate the beauty even more than before. And now Sherlock was looking up at him like that… Not Sherlock, Sherwood, John told himself sternly, as those irresistible lips formed their ‘hello’. But watching this, it was hard not to imagine the real Sherlock, the man he was getting to know. Those eyes completely fixed on him as though he were making yet another brilliant deduction about John’s life.

John’s hand was on his cock even before Sherwood was touching his, and once again he tried to keep following the rhythm the other man set, until he was trembling and desperate to let go, wondering what those long, lean fingers would feel like on his skin. This time too, John couldn’t help a loud moan as he was coming with Sherwood, and he fell back on his elbows, panting. Once he had caught his breath and cleaned himself up, he shut the laptop and put it next to the bed. He was asleep within minutes.


	6. Chapter 6

As John left his office the next evening, he was considering texting Sherlock. He hadn’t heard from him all day, and if Sherlock _did_ want to meet, they had to settle on a time and place. Still, John felt a little awkward about being the first one to text again. As though he were… _needy_. And perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to see Sherlock in person after all, considering his reactions to the clip last night…

But he had already told Mary that he would be out tonight, so it might seem strange if he turned out to have cancelled his plans. By the time he passed through the clinic’s front office, he had taken his phone out to send a text. And then almost dropped it, as he saw a tall man in a familiar long coat leaning against the receptionist’s desk, chatting merrily with... Mary. John closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find his composure, and convinced himself to join them rather than to run and hide somewhere.

"Oh yes, Mr Holmes," Mary said, beaming up at him. "I am familiar with your work. My husband is quite a fan of yours."

Sherlock chuckled pleasantly. "Your husband has good taste. In everything."

Mary giggled and it almost looked like she was blushing.

John cleared his throat. "Mr Holmes. Good evening."

Sherlock looked over at him with a wide smile, but Mary kept looking up at the actor.

"John," Sherlock said, holding out his hand to him.

John took it, glancing at Mary.

Mary turned her eyes to John and mouthed a silent: 'I like him'. Then she smiled. "Well, I'm off now. See you at home, honey." She kissed John's cheek, then turned to Sherlock. "Nice meeting you, Mr Holmes," she said and then giggled as Sherlock made a small, polite bow to her.

John felt himself blush. "Shall we go then?" he asked Sherlock. "Or was there a reason you preferred to see me here at the clinic?"

Sherlock shrugged. "No point in me taking a cab to the set when you've got a car. Right?"

"Er... Actually Mary was going to take the car home... And weren't we just going to a pub or something?"

"We're going to go see the set," Sherlock said. "Mary's taking the bus."

"You go on, boys," Mary said, winking at John. "Have fun."

"Right. Okay. Let's, erm, let's go then." Trying to regain a little control over the situation, John made his way to the exit, looking over his shoulder to see if Sherlock was following.

Sherlock didn't say another word while they settled in the car, and as John drove away from the clinic, he noticed that Sherlock was studying his face. He cleared his throat, feeling awkward, and finally he thought of something to say to lift the atmosphere a little.

"Good taste in everything, eh? That's not how I thought you felt when I saw you look at my jumper last time."

Sherlock laughed. "Jealous that I made your wife blush?"

"More surprised," John said, smiling.

"Oh? You thought I could only charm men?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you could only be bothered to," John corrected. "But then again... I guess I should have realised after seeing... what was it called, something with 'beaten'?"

In the short moment John glanced at him, he saw Sherlock's smile vanish. "Why did you watch that one?" Sherlock huffed, turning to look out the window.

John frowned as he focused back on the road. Sherlock almost sounded offended, while usually he was so proud of his work. "I only watched a small part," John said. "I thought it'd be more... accessible to me. Because it wasn't... you know, gay."

Sherlock snorted softly. "That particular project was an experiment that didn't quite turn out as planned. I only have it listed on my website as a favour for a... friend..."

"I see," John said. "Well. To be honest, I doubt I'll give it another go."

"Unless you discover a liking for S/M," Sherlock said, "you shouldn't waste your time. It is a very kink-specific piece. I doubt you would enjoy it."

"Me too." John frowned a little. "Not exactly my cup of tea."

"Left here," Sherlock said, pointing.

John nodded. "Where are we going, actually?"

"My employer's leased a house," Sherlock said. "We've been shooting in it for almost six months. But the lease ends in a fortnight. That's why I have to do the film on that particular day. It's my last chance."

John nodded. "It has an indoor swimming pool?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "With underwater lighting all around the sides. It would cost a fortune to outfit an ordinary pool like that."

"I see," John said. "Well, I've never visited a film set before, so thanks for giving me the chance. Straight ahead here?"

"Yes. And then turn right after the gate. There's not much to see right now," Sherlock continued "All the equipment is upstairs for the scenes they're filming this week."

"I had no idea you'd be filming in one location for such a long time in your industry," John mused.

"It's a big house," Sherlock said. "These films only take place in one or two rooms. And most of those are easily changed so they can be used multiple times without anyone noticing. And the garden, of course." He leaned over and pointed to a large brick mansion. "There it is." He chuckled. "Last week they did a Downton Abbey inspired thing in the kitchen. All the... valets and footmen getting it on. And the driver..."

John snorted. "One of Mary's friends is a big Downton fan. I guess I'd better not tell her about that."

"Probably not." Sherlock let out a soft laugh. "Just park over there," he said. "The pool’s at the back of the house. They've added a more modern wing, but had the sense to put it where it wouldn't be visible from the front."   

"It's quite beautiful," John said, looking around as he got out of the car. "Still not entirely sure why I'm here, but... Nice."

"You said you had some concerns about safety. It's easier to discuss if I can show you the place. And the equipment. This way." Sherlock gestured for him to follow and began walking around the end of the house.

As they crossed a grass field, John admired the garden, thinking it would look very nice indeed at a warmer time of year. "Have you been doing any scenes outside?" he asked.

"We did one that started outside," Sherlock said. "A pursuit and capture situation. It's a feature length film about an agent getting caught behind enemy lines. But the guy who's supposed to interrogate and then execute him turns out to be an old lover of his and they end up running away together." He chuckled. "I think you'd like it. But it won't be out for months."

"Shame. It does sound fun," John said with a chuckle, wondering at how easy it had become to say that kind of thing about a porn movie.

Then he frowned as a very low glass construction came into view. "What's that? A greenhouse for garden gnomes?"

"Go have a look," Sherlock said, chuckling.

John went closer and looked down through the glass. "Wow. That's... wow. I can see why you want to film it here."

"It's one of a kind," Sherlock said. "Come on. I'll take you down there." He headed over towards the back door of the house. "We'll be going through the kitchen, which is still 'made up' for that period piece."

John chuckled, eager to have a closer look at the impressive underground swimming pool. "I guess those guys didn't get to have a swim."

"Not while filming," Sherlock said. "But we're all using it after shoots. For relaxing and exercise."

"Exer... Oh. No, of course you didn't mean that." John laughed nervously and looked away, blushing.

“John…” Sherlock said, smirking just a little. “Contrary to popular beliefs, most actors in this industry aren’t sex crazed fiends. We don’t shag everything within reach. You don’t go around curing people in your spare time, do you?”

“Only when they start texting me that they’re in urgent need of help…” John said with a small eyeroll.

“I needed your professional opinion,” Sherlock said. “That’s different. If you ever have any questions I can help you with, you are welcome to ask.”

“I can’t imagine many situations in which that wouldn’t be impossibly awkward, but… thanks for the offer.” John chuckled.

“I didn’t mean telling you about the birds and the… birds…” Sherlock said, chuckling. “But if you ever need a recommendation of which of my films to watch, I’d be happy to point you in the right direction, depending on your current state of mind.”

“Thanks.” John grew a little more serious, remembering why he had actually asked Sherlock to meet. “I think that could be quite useful. Since I’ve… not found all of your works to be equally enjoyable.”

Sherlock stopped walking and looked down at him. “Oh…” he said. “I see… I take it you have questions.”

“Yes.” John frowned. “Basically… why? Why would you let them… _use_ you like that?”

“It’s my job, John. I get paid for it. It’s called acting, remember?”

“Of course. But that one. It was…” John shook his head. “I didn’t expect _you_ to make something like that.”

“I’m under contract,” Sherlock said as he began walking again. “I don’t choose all my own movies. I do what the boss wants me to and do it better than anyone else. And in return he lets me make my own movies in between. Using his cameras, sets and sometimes actors.”

John sighed. “But doesn’t it bother you, sometimes?”

“Only if the director or my partners are really really bad. But James knows that I’m his biggest asset. That the better material he gives me, the greater the product will be.” Sherlock shrugged. “But still… Most of the stuff I do for him is not even worth a mention on my site.”

“I guess I’ll stay away from those films, then,” John said, smiling a little. It was still hard to imagine Sherwood in moronic clips with too much moaning and ridiculous plots, but it was a job. Of course even Sherlock would have to take on work he liked less, if he wanted to get paid. “Why did you consider _Disciplinary Action_ good enough to be on your list, though?”

“Because he still hasn’t forgiven me for that one,” Sherlock said, smiling smugly.

“Forgiven you?”

Before answering, Sherlock led John down a narrow flight of stairs and then paused outside a white wooden door. “It was supposed to be a rather nasty piece,” he said. “Much worse than what you saw.”

John raised his eyebrows, finding it hard to imagine that.

“It was meant to be a rape fantasy. A pretty violent rape. But without changing anything in the script, I managed to turn it into something more… consensual. An S/M scene rather than pure abuse. It did help, of course, that I knew all the other actors and how to get them to respond exactly how I wanted.”

“God,” John said, wincing. “That’s just sick. Why would someone even want to watch abuse like that? He should be grateful that you changed it.”

“Why do people do things like that?” Sherlock countered. “There’s no accounting for what turns people on. There’s a much larger market for things like that than you care to know but…” Sherlock’s smile faded a little and he sighed. “James had other motives for making that particular piece.”

John frowned and looked up at him questioningly. He found he had to tilt his head back rather far, as Sherlock was standing pretty close.

“Politics,” Sherlock said. “James likes to have his fingers in a lot of pies. There were some powerful people who could have used that film to their advantage. If it had gone the way James planned it. But it doesn’t matter. I put a stop to that and the film turned out… acceptable. That is why I keep Disciplinary Action on the list. It is a healthy reminder to him that he can’t use me that way.” Then he let out an exaggerated sigh. “The downside to the whole business was, of course, that I ended up doing my brother a rather big favour. But that couldn’t be helped.”

John smiled. “That James sure sounds like a piece of work. But then again, I’m not sure what I expected…”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked, frowning a little.

“Well, he did come up with the company name, didn’t he? ‘Good Old-Fashioned Fairy Tail’, seriously…”

Sherlock snorted. “Yes… That was not one of his brightest moments…”

John giggled, but gasped as Sherlock pushed the door open. Before he knew it, he had walked through, admiring the space. It was even more impressive than it had seemed from above. The glass roof made the room seem even brighter than it had been outdoors, and the long rectangular pool was surrounded by white Greek-style columns. The walls behind them were made of a dark red brick. “God, this place makes you want to go for a swim. It’s gorgeous.”

Sherlock chuckled. "No one's stopping you," he said.

"Next time I'll bring my swimming trunks." John smiled.

"If you feel you need them," Sherlock said. "I've personally never seen the point in wearing clothing in the water."

"So you didn't plan a long scene with guys getting rid of their trunks in creative ways?" John asked, amused.

"Not for the scene we will be shooting here," Sherlock said. "It has no story. Nor any actual realism..." He frowned. "Did you want to have a look at the equipment or was that just an excuse?"

"Why would I need an excuse?" John asked, his heart suddenly beating too fast.

"To ask me about _Disciplinary Action_ , of course," Sherlock said. But something in his tone had changed and he studied John intently.

"Well... I did want to ask about that, but... If people are supposed to stay under water for twenty minutes, I _am_ concerned about their safety," John said, a little too defiantly.

Sherlock's smile was entirely too smug as he led John over to a locker by one of the walls. The code for the lock was very complicated, but he did not even hesitate as he punched in a dozen digits or more. He brought out several metal boxes, put them on the floor and knelt down.

"These," he said, opening the largest one, "are the tubes and pumps for breathing. As you can see the material is quite unique. Up here it's just sheer, but under water they will be all but invisible."

John nodded. "They do look solid. What's it made of?"

Looking inordinately pleased, Sherlock launched into a long and complicated explanation of the composition of the material, casually hinting that he had invented it himself.

John shook his head fondly. "You are amazing," he said when he could finally get a word in. "I thought you were exaggerating with your being the only one in the world, but... You're a bloody genius."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, his mouth still open as if he had been about to say something more. He blinked a few times. "You... you think so?" he said. "I mean... That's not what people usually say..."

John smiled. "What do people usually say?"

"Show-off," Sherlock said, grinning. "Or... Pretentious twat..."

"Well, those aren't mutually exclusive, are they?" John said with a grin.

"I guess not," Sherlock said. "But it says a lot about you that you don't mind admitting that you are impressed. I almost wished there were more like you around."

John chuckled. "Now there's one that I don't hear often."

"Don't be modest, Doctor Watson," Sherlock said looking John in the eyes. "You are a very good man. The kind people appreciate."

John cleared his throat and kept himself from looking away. "I think it's debatable whether I'm a good man or not."

"Oh..." Sherlock raised a single eyebrow. "Hiding any dark secrets?"

John shrugged. "You know I'm not only a doctor."

"A soldier too," Sherlock said, smiling. "But all the nice girls like a soldier, right?" He cocked his head, his eyes flickering for just a second down to John's mouth then back up again.

John let out a rather breathless laugh. For a moment he just stood looking up at Sherlock, who was once again quite close. He licked his lips, looking for something to say, but his mind seemed to have gone blank.

God, Sherlock was beautiful. Standing so close, John could hardly believe he wasn’t dreaming. One of those dreams where Sherlock was looking at him the way he had done in _Awakening_. As though he were his lover. As though he had fantasised about this, too, and had had to wait far too long until this scenario finally played out. John stretched and tilted his head a little. Of course they wouldn’t _actually_ go for this. He knew this was just part of the teasing and flirting that seemed inherent in their… friendship? Acquaintance? In just a moment, they’d both look away, the adrenaline still pumping through their veins…

Only when his lips were on Sherlock’s did he realise that this wasn’t just his imagination. He put a hand on Sherlock’s neck, both to bring him closer and to confirm he was really there, and his eyes fluttered closed. As long as he didn’t let go of him, he could live in the thrill of the moment. He wouldn’t have to face that he was really doing this, even if a small voice in his head told him it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever done. Then he felt Sherlock’s tongue against his lips and he simply stopped thinking again, sighing into Sherlock’s mouth.

 

Suddenly a voice rang through the room. "I left you a message... I thought you might call..."

Sherlock gasped and pulled away.

John's heart was hammering in his throat as he stared up at Sherlock in shock. Then he turned around and saw that two men had entered; one dark-haired and vaguely familiar, the other tall, blond and scarred - the colonel, he realised in horror.

"James," Sherlock said, his tone suddenly icy cold. "What are you doing here?"

The shorter man shook his head and tutted. "Sherlock... How many times must I ask you to call me Jim?"

"You didn't answer my question," Sherlock snapped. "Why are you here? No one is scheduled to film for the next three days."

"It's my house," James countered, approaching slowly, his hands deep in the pockets of his expensive looking suit. "Or it's my name on the lease, anyway. I can come and go as I please..."

John glanced from one to the other and took a step back. "I should probably just..."

Sherlock put a hand on John's shoulder. "Stay," he said softly. Then he spoke to James again, apparently ignoring the other man completely. "So? You're not in the habit of skulking around here. In fact, as far as I know, you only come here when I'm filming. Which I'm not."

"No..." James said with a smirk. "But I see you're practising. I'm glad you're here, though. I've been trying to reach you. We're choosing a location tonight. For your next project."

Sherlock huffed. "Choose whatever you want," he said. "You know I'm only doing that one because I have to."

"Oh, I know, but..." James paused, probably for effect. "I want to choose the perfect setting for this. I need my two stars with me, so I can see with my own eyes how it will look."

"What?" Sherlock cried, his eyes widening.

The blond man shrugged, looking smug. "You must have realised we'd be working together for this."

This time Sherlock ignored him deliberately as he stalked over to glare down at James. "I told you when I came to work for you. He's not laying hands on me. Or anything else, for that matter."

James didn't move, just looked up at Sherlock, smiling. "Things have changed, darling. You want something that I have, so you're giving me what I want."

"No bloody way!" Sherlock yelled and stormed off.

John had been shifting his weight awkwardly, eager to leave so he could finally wrap his head around what had just happened, but didn't dare to stride out the way Sherlock had done. "Er, good evening," he told the two men, before turning towards the door.

"Just a minute," James called after him. "Who exactly are you?"

"No one," John said, looking back. "I'm with Sherlock."

"Oh yes, I saw that," James said, giggling softly. "But who _are_ you? Apart from being a married man?"

John quickly moved his hand behind his back. "I'm John. And you're Sherlock's boss, so I'll leave you to... check out locations. Good evening."

"It does seem like a good evening, doesn't it?" James said, approaching him slowly. "Especially for Sherlock. Though I'm a bit surprised it took him this long."

John frowned. When would this man take the hint and let him go?

The tall man was now chuckling. "Doesn't seem too difficult with this one..."

"Oh, but surely he can't have been too easy. Or Sherlock wouldn't have bothered. There must be something special about this doctor that made our star finally pick a target." James walked around John, studying him as if he was looking for something specific.

John raised his eyebrows. "Care to tell me what you're talking about, or can I go? I'm supposed to give Sherlock a lift home..."

"Oh, he's long gone," James said. "He can be a bit of a bastard, you know. But dead charming. You should have seen him when we first met. Mid-twenties and just starting out in the business. But even back then he thought he had the sun shining out of his arse or something. That's when we made the bet. He was convinced that he could make any man want him. 'Straight as an arrow,' he said. 'Happily married. The kind of good man who'd never even consider being unfaithful.' I told him he was daft but he swore that he could seduce such a man. Just by... 'looking into his eyes'." James laughed and the colonel was smirking. "I guess I owe him a tenner."

John pressed his lips together and told himself to breathe rather than punch James in the face. "Good evening," he said, pushing past the man to get to the exit.


	7. Chapter 7

Outdoors, John stopped to look around for a moment, but Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. Frowning, he decided to move on, unwilling to come across James and his other employee again. In the car he got out his phone and typed out a message for Sherlock: ‘ _If you still want a lift, I’m leaving in 5._ ’

Then he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He could understand that Sherlock wanted to get away from a prick like James by starting his own business. And that colonel guy seemed little better, following the smaller man around like a bodyguard. Both of them were the types to get John’s hackles up immediately. And yet…

What James had said didn’t seem entirely unlikely. Why would someone like Sherlock ever be interested in kissing _him_ , if it wasn’t for a bet? He knew the man was constantly trying to improve his act, thinking of new ways to lure the viewer into the story, analysing his every move. In that light, testing if he could seduce a married man in real life would make perfect sense. And John had made it all too easy for him. In fact he had been the one to reach up and kiss him. For a moment he seemed to have forgotten about his own wife, the consequences that kiss might have, and all other reasons why something like that was a terrible idea. The only thing on his mind had been Sherlock. Exactly as the man would want it.

But the way Sherlock had been looking at him… John hadn't detected any insincerity in that gaze. His expression had been so open and soft. Then again, no dishonesty could be spotted in the way he looked at his co-stars either. Sherlock _was_ a bloody good actor. There was no way to know for sure what he had been thinking when John had been so close, so ready to pull him in. Perhaps all that had been on his mind was that he could finally prove to James that he could do it, knowing his boss would walk in any moment. Even if he had looked quite surprised at their arrival - that, too, could have been feigned.

Snapping his eyes open, John hit the steering wheel angrily. He couldn’t blame Sherlock for having deceived him. All this was John’s own fault. _He_ was the one who was married, who had promised Mary he would be faithful. Keeping that vow was his responsibility alone. Not Sherlock’s - although, for all John knew, he could have a partner of his own. He hardly knew the man. And yet he had grabbed him and snogged him as though his life depended on it.

Shaking his head, he finally started the car and drove out of his parking spot. Sherlock’s five minutes were long past, and if he wanted to disappear without a word to John, fine. Or perhaps he was celebrating with James by now… The thought made John grit his teeth.

How was he supposed to tell Mary about this? How could she trust him after this? It had only been two weeks since he had told her he might be bisexual, and now he had to spring on her that he had actually _kissed_ a man. Perhaps it was better not to tell her, not to hurt her. But he knew he had to. Those dreams alone had put such a strain on him; there was no way he could keep something this big to himself without her noticing. And he didn’t want to. He had done this, so he deserved the consequences, whatever they would be. Personally he felt that a good slap in the face was the least he deserved, if only for his stupidity.

‘Was it really that believable?’ he heard Sherlock ask in his mind, as he had done back when they met in the café, when John had been gullible enough to run to his aid when nothing was wrong. Sherlock might have been playing him the whole time. Assuring him he was a good man and a good doctor, acting like he enjoyed John’s company enough to explain the smallest details of his project to him - pushing all of John’s buttons. And without giving it any thought, John had clung to his own fantasy, believing it could actually happen.

 

The ride home was over in a blur, and as he arrived, John didn’t remember all that much about the traffic. It was still fairly early; Mary would be surprised he was back so soon. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before he got out of the car. Right now he hated Sherlock, and Mike too for indirectly introducing them. If he had never seen a Sherwood film, he’d be a much happier man now. However good that kiss had been.

He straightened his jacket and walked to the front door. _To battle._

 

…

 

Mary looked up from her book when he entered. "So..." she said, grinning. "How was your date?"

She looked so happy and relaxed. John almost changed his mind, but... he had to drop this bomb. It would only get harder with time.

Sighing, he sat down in his chair so he could face Mary, but avoided her eyes.

Mary put down her book.

"John?" she said softly. "What happened?"

"He..." John cleared his throat. "He showed me the house where they're filming."

"Well, that was nice of him," she said, frowning. "Unless... Was anyone... y'know... working?"

"No. No, it was just us at first." He chewed on his lip for a moment. Then he whispered: "I kissed him."

Mary's expression remained rather blank, and John had to keep himself from closing his eyes in shame. His hands were trembling as he waited for a reaction, anything, but Mary just sat there.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice rather hoarse. "I wish I hadn't..."

"Yeah..." Mary said slowly. "Me too..." She sat in silence for another moment, then suddenly stood up. "I'm sorry, John... I'm going to need some time..." She seemed about to say something more, but then just shook her head and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

John hid his face in his hands. There was nothing he wouldn't do to go back in time and stop himself from being such a fool.

Mary clearly needed some space, so it was no use going after her. And what more could he say? He'd be sleeping on the sofa tonight, and be grateful that she hadn't kicked him out of the house.

When he was settled with a blanket after a quick shower, his mind feeling numb and exhausted, the bedroom door opened again.

Mary had her weekend bag slung over her shoulder. "I... I'm going to Janine's," she said, not looking at him. "I know we need to talk, but... Not yet. I need some time..."

John nodded slowly, feeling miserable. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Mary.”

“I know,” Mary said. It seemed like she tried to smile but then gave up. Shaking her head slowly, she turned away and then left.

 

John didn’t know how long he sat staring at the door. He didn’t feel like lying down and closing his eyes as if nothing had happened. All the impressions of the evening would come back to him, and he couldn’t face them again. When he finally did curl up in his blanket, his thoughts wouldn’t stop long enough for him to fall asleep. He had had everything to be happy. A good job and a fantastic wife by his side, who supported him through everything, even when he randomly started dreaming about men. And still he had to go and ruin it.

He had seen it often enough; patients who kept on destroying their own lives. Though he didn’t fit that picture - if he couldn’t stand being happy, he’d never allowed himself to get involved with Mary. So why? Why did he kiss Sherlock? Was he so bored of his life as a civilian that he decided to add some drama by cheating on his wife after being married for less than a year? But he wasn’t. It was not always easy and there were some reflexes from the battlefield that he would never lose, but he was doing fine, fitting in okay.

He sat up again and grabbed his laptop. Back when he still had regular meetings with his therapist, before he had met Mary, she had often told him to write down what was happening to him and what he was feeling. It would help him to get things sorted and to see his own progress. He had never really listened, convinced that it would only depress him more to see how empty his days were. However, right now his mind was cluttered enough to at least give it a go.

Yet as he sat staring at the blinking cursor, he didn’t know what to type. ‘ _I am a fucking idiot. I bloody kissed him, it was my choice, and now everything is going to hell._ ’ That was all there was to it, wasn’t it? How was this supposed to help?

He shut the laptop again and sighed.

 

In the end he managed a couple of hours sleep, but he felt in no way fit to go to work. His colleagues wouldn’t be happy, as it were busy days, but he also couldn’t avoid Mary if he did go. She needed space, and his showing up at work wouldn’t help with that.

Just sitting here at home wouldn’t do either, though. He would end up trying to crawl out of his own skin. So he went out early, with no real purpose, just to walk. The cold air did clear his mind a little, and soon he found himself running. Just jogging through the streets of London, until he was out of breath and had a stitch in his side, hoping his thoughts wouldn’t catch up with him.

He sagged down on a park bench, feeling slightly better. Then he realised that under the tree opposite him, a young man and woman were hugging, and he quickly looked away, feeling bitter. He could only hope _they_ didn’t fuck up by snogging some manipulative bastard. Some prying sod who figured out everything they wanted, what jokes they needed to hear and how important they needed to feel, just to win a fucking bet.

Before he knew it, he was standing again. He wasn’t far from Baker Street now, even though he hadn’t been thinking about his destination as he went. But since he was here anyway, he might as well go tell that arsehole what he thought of his ‘clever’ little tricks. It would be good to take some of his anger out on him. And then he’d make sure they never crossed paths again.

 

Only when he opened the door to Speedy’s, it occurred to him that Sherlock might not take his breakfast there if he wasn’t meeting someone. But that didn’t matter. He had been at ease here, and clearly he had known the owner, so John would find out soon enough where the bastard lived.

“Table for one, sir?” It was the owner himself who approached John as he stood looking in the door opening.

“No, sorry,” John said. “I’m looking for someone. Sherlock Holmes.”

An elderly lady in a flowery dress looked up from her cup of tea. "Sherlock?" she said. "Why are you looking for him, dear?"

"I need to talk to him," John said. "Do you know where I can find him?"

"Do I?" she huffed. "I had to seek refuge in here because he's been stomping around up there all morning." She made a vague sort of gesture at the ceiling. Then she frowned at John. "Are you a... friend of his?"

"Sort of," John said, figuring that admitting he was looking for him to punch him in the face might put this sweet lady off giving him his address. Then again, knowing Sherlock, it might as well make her more helpful. "I understand you live close to him, then?"

"I'm his landlady," she said, straightening up a bit. "When you say sort of... does that mean more than a friend? Or do you work with him?"

"I'm his doctor," John said, starting to feel impatient.

"His doctor?" the woman gasped. "There's nothing... wrong with him, is there?"

John raised his eyebrows. A lot must be wrong with Sherlock to be playing people like that, but clearly she cared about the actor, and there was no need to worry her. "No. I just need to see him. It's kind of urgent." He tried to smile at her, but had the feeling his face turned into a painful grimace instead.

"Oh well," she shrugged. "I doubt he'll bother coming down to answer the front door, but I suppose I can let you in." She turned to the man behind the counter. "Can you pour me a fresh cuppa? I'll be right back." She gestured to John as she headed outside. "This way."

"Thank you so much." John followed her and tried not to think too much of the fact he'd see Sherlock again within minutes.

She opened the door for him and led him to the foot of the narrow stairs. "Right up there," she said. "If he doesn't answer a knock, just let yourself in. He never locks it."

"Right. Thanks."

John rushed up the stairs, but hesitated for just a moment before he opened the door. There was still time to go back. But no. He had to tell Sherlock what a dick he had been, or he might think he could just do this again to other men. Someone had to put a stop to it.

The room was rather dark and at first he couldn't see him. But then a groan sounded and John turned to find Sherlock slumped back in a black leather and chrome armchair.

"What do you want?" he snapped, not even opening his eyes to look at John.

John crossed his arms and licked his lips. "James told me."

"Told you what?" Sherlock groaned. "Why he is determined to ruin my project? That he wants to own me and will not accept any attempt on my part to break away from him?"

"No," John said icily. "About the bet."

"Bet?" Sherlock finally opened his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

John raised his eyebrows. "No. You're not playing this game with me any longer, Sherlock. No way."

"Listen, John," Sherlock said, getting to his feet. "I don't know what you're on about. And whatever it is, I've got bigger worries."

"You've got bigger worries." John let out a wry laugh. "Perhaps you should have thought of that before you ruined someone's marriage for _ten fucking quid_."

"Ten quid?" Sherlock jumped to his feet and stomped towards John. "What ten quid? You're not making any sense."

"Oh, _I_ 'm not making sense? That's neat, yeah, that's amazing. Certainly from someone who makes bets about destroying other people's happiness. Because that's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk someone’s marriage to prove you're clever." John dropped his arms and clenched his fists, feeling disgusted with the man before him.

"What?" Sherlock's scowl softened. "Look... I don't know what James told you, but I'm not out to destroy anything. _You_ kissed _me_ , remember?"

"Because you made me. You threw all your tricks at me just to prove yourself to your boss." But now Sherlock was in front of him, John suddenly doubted his own words. If Sherlock really didn't have a clue what this was about, James hadn’t been speaking the truth. And then John really only had himself to blame.

"I didn't throw anything at you," Sherlock huffed. "I asked for your help. And then _you_ contacted _me_. I thought you might..." But he cut himself off and shook his head. He turned from John and began pacing the living room. "It doesn't matter now. I don't have time for that. I need to figure out how to get out of that project. Without breaking my contract..."

John shook his head. "So that's it? Your little experiment is done, and I should just leave you alone so you can get on with your business?"

"No..." Sherlock said. "I was hoping you could help me."

"Help you? _Help_ you?"

"Yeah, why not? You obviously got what you wanted." Sherlock shrugged. "Is it too much to ask for something in return?"

"What I wanted?" John stared at him.

"Snogging a porn star. Or was it more specific? Was it Sherwood you wanted?" Sherlock smirked. "Was it as good as you had imagined?"

"You... It wasn't..." John sputtered. Did Sherlock think he had done him a _favour_? That this had been some simple challenge to _him_? "You are sick." He turned around, slammed the door behind him and ran down the stairs.

Outside, he immediately hailed a taxi, tired of walking and feeling a strong need to be alone. Shouting at Sherlock hadn’t brought the relief he had hoped for. He hadn’t even really yelled at him. Or punched him.

Was it another trick of Sherlock’s, or had there really not been a bet? But why would his boss lie to John about something like that? James and Sherlock’s relationship did seem rather strained, but John wasn’t involved in any of that. He was just a stranger who had received a warning.

What if Sherlock had been honest? If John had stormed in with his accusations while the actor had never planned any of this… He couldn’t bear thinking of that. Yet it wasn’t as if Sherlock had looked hurt at all. Whatever his intentions, the kiss hadn’t meant much to him - not surprising perhaps, considering his work. If it hadn’t been for a bet, then he must have gone along with the snog just so he could ask a favour of John later. It was the same kind of manipulation, just to a different end. But in that case, he had made a mistake. If he was so clever and could read John so well, he should have realised that John wasn’t the kind of man who’d kiss someone just because they were a porn star. It had been Sherlock he wanted, John realised with more than a little twinge of guilt, not Sherwood. The man who was so intelligent and witty, rather than the one making eyes at the camera. However attractive that version of him was, John knew it wasn’t real.

_That_ was why he was so angry, he realised. As he himself had initiated the kiss, he should take full responsibility for that part of what had happened. He had hurt Mary and he couldn’t blame anyone else for that. But he had genuinely _liked_ the Sherlock he had talked to on those few occasions, enough to spend more hours in a small café than he intended, enough to drive him across town to some unknown location without questioning it. If _that_ Sherlock had only been another role, an act to push John to the point they had reached last night… That actually bloody _hurt_.

 

Once he was home, the day seemed to drag on endlessly. He made himself lunch just to have something to do, and then found out he didn’t have an appetite. He tried reading a book, but couldn’t focus. Soon he was crawling the walls, but he didn’t feel like going out again either. He kept glancing at his phone, desperate to reach out to Mary, but he couldn’t. If he didn’t respect her wish for some time alone, he’d only make things worse, and he wouldn’t risk driving her even further away. He needed her.

 

In the evening, listlessly skipping between tv channels without seeing anything, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the clock. The clinic would be closed now. Perhaps Mary would decide to come home. But he told himself not to expect too much. It was too soon, and maybe Mary hadn’t gone to work either, so the hour didn’t necessarily mean anything.

Half an hour later he had given up hope he’d hear from her that day, but then he heard the key in the lock and his heart jumped in relief. It still didn’t mean anything. Possibly she came to tell him that she was leaving for good, and he didn’t know what he’d do with himself then. But at least they would talk.

 

Mary stopped in the door to the sitting room. She just looked at him for almost a minute. Then she let her bag drop to the floor and held out her hands towards him. "Come here," she said softly. "I think we both need a hug."

John bit his lip hard as he stood up and closed the distance between them. Gratefully he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, tears stinging his eyes.

"I'm still mad," Mary whispered. "But I'm ready to talk about it."

John nodded. "I know. You have every right to be mad. I'm sorry." He let go of her and just awkwardly stood there for a moment.

"How about making us some tea?" Mary said, smiling a little.

"Yes. Right." John went to the kitchen and filled the kettle.

When he returned with the tea, Mary was sitting by the dining table, arms crossed. John wished she had chosen the sofa instead. Obviously he'd have kept his distance, but this gave the impression that their conversation would be almost businesslike. He put down the cups and sat down opposite her.

Mary sighed. "What exactly happened?" she asked.

"We were just talking,” John said softly. “About his newest project. That time a patient texted me on our day off... That was him. He made it look like it was an emergency, but actually he also just wanted to talk about the project then." John sipped his tea, though it was still too hot. "Nothing happened back then. I wouldn't have dreamed of it. But this time... I don't know what came over me. He was so close and... I just did it." He swallowed.

"So it was all you?" Mary asked, looking into her cup. "You started it?"

"I... Yes." John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "But then his boss walked in on us. And when Sherlock was gone, he told me something..."

"His boss?" Mary asked, frowning. "Moriarty? What did he say?"

John blinked. "You know who his boss is?"

"Yes, of course," Mary said, sounding a little impatient. "But John... What did he say?"

He frowned. How did she know that? But it was better to focus on his story now, to make her understand. "He told me about an old bet he and Sherlock had made. About Sherlock being able to seduce a straight, married man."

Mary reached out and took his hand. "Oh John..." she said. "That's horrible..."

"Well. I still shouldn't have let him influence me like that," John said, stroking her hand, though he didn't feel he deserved the supporting touch.

"Let him influence you?" Mary looked up at him and cocked her head. "Are you trying to say that it was his fault? That he somehow _made_ you kiss him?"

"Well... You've seen how good he is. He can seduce anyone who is looking at his films, right? So it's easy for him to apply those tricks in real life and..."

"John Watson," Mary snapped, pulling her hand away from his. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. You started the kiss. Unless he had 'kiss me' written on his forehead, you don't get to blame him." She shook her head. "You are better than this, John. Try again."

John winced, leaning back. "I'm not blaming him anymore for the kiss itself. I know that was a mistake. But he may have played some kind of role to get me to like him..."

"And why would he do that, John?" Mary asked, her tone softening. "What makes you so special that Sherlock Holmes would make an effort to get you interested?"

John frowned at her, a cold weight settling in his stomach. "Nothing," he said flatly. "As I said, he may have been doing it for a bet."

"Doing what exactly?" Mary insisted. "Was he making eyes at you? Flirting?"

"Not... not... blatantly..." John squirmed in his chair. "But James must know him better than I do. If he didn't think Sherlock had done it for the bet, then why would he tell me about it?"

"To mess with you, John," Mary said. "To tease you, probably. And even if there were some sort of bet, it's not like Sherlock forced you to kiss him, is it? And he wouldn't do that for the bet anyway. You said it yourself: A _straight_ married man. You hardly fit that label anymore, do you?" She smiled a little.

"No." John sighed and rubbed his face with one hand. "But if it wasn't some sort of trick, I really don't understand why I did it."

"Because he's a beautiful man, John," she said, taking his hand again. "Because you were curious. You've got all these new thoughts and desires and thanks to those films, he's right at the centre of it all." She gave his hand a squeeze. "How could you not go for it when you got the chance? Circumstances set you up, John. Not Sherlock."

John chewed his lips again. "I went to see him today. Accused him of... all that. Because I thought it would make me feel better."

Mary stared at him, then laughed. "Oh John... You never learn, do you? How... How did he take it?"

"Well... He didn't seem to know what I was talking about," John said, feeling more ashamed by the minute. "And then he kept going on about his project being at risk."

"Well, there you have it," Mary said. "Moriarty was clearly making that stuff up." She sighed and shook her head slowly. "Poor Sherlock. First you kiss him and then you chew his head off..."

"Hey, I'm not a praying mantis. Besides, he seemed to think I had wanted to kiss him just because he was a porn star." John huffed.

"Maybe it's not the first time a fan has snogged him," Mary said, frowning. "I imagine that he's met a lot of guys who were more interested in the actor than the man."

John considered this for a moment. Sure, Sherwood could be amazing to watch, but it really was Sherlock he had wanted to be closer to. And getting close, he had burned himself.

"Well," he said. "I shouldn't see him again, so... Perhaps it's better if he thinks that's what happened."

"What are you talking about?" Mary snapped. "Of course you should see him again. You clearly like him and from what you tell me, he likes you too. Or at least trusts you enough to confide in you."

"But..." John stared at her. Was this her way to tell him she was leaving after all? That she hoped they'd be very happy together, but this was it for her?

"But, nothing," Mary said. "I just need to know one thing..." She took a deep breath. "If... If he likes you too, like that... Will you leave me? For him?"

"What?" John's voice now reached unknown heights. "Mary, I love you. Just you. I can't imagine that I'd be happier with anyone else. What happened with Sherlock was a mistake. I promise that it won't happen again."

"Don't promise that," Mary said, smiling a little. "I mean... You were honest with me.... That's a very good thing. And it's not like anything is taken from me if you enjoy his company too... Right?" Her voice was trembling, but her eyes were calm. Determined.

"But... But..." John opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

"I've been thinking a lot about it," she continued, speaking faster now. "I was shocked when you first told me, but then I realised that I still trust you. And that I really don't mind if you have a little adventure with Sherlock or... some other bloke. As long as it doesn't get in the way of what we have..."

"I... I really wasn't planning to make an _adventure_ out of it," John said. Mary really seemed serious about this. But he'd never want to take things further with Sherlock... Would he? The man had every right not to want to talk to him ever again, for a start.

"You already did," Mary said. "Kissing him like that. It's the stuff stories are made of, John. What most people just dream about."

"Stories about people stupid enough to risk the wonderful relationship they already have, yeah," John muttered. "Listen, I think it's amazing of you that you want to give me this freedom. You are fantastic. But I don't want you to feel like you aren't enough."

"Oh, I know I am," Mary said. "I'm all the woman you can handle. And more. And I'm woman enough to let my man go and play." She giggled. "Because I know he'll come back, and John... It's more than a tiny bit sexy..."

John chuckled. "Yeah... I know." Finally he allowed himself to feel relieved. Mary was staying. And apparently, as long as he was honest, she was fine with everything. He got up and moved to her side of the table. "Come here. I really want to hug you again."

Mary practically threw herself into his arms, trembling. "Oh John..." she whispered, clinging to him. "I don't ever want us to be apart again. Not like this..."

"Me neither." John pulled her closer and kissed her hair. "Let's call it an early night. I think we're both a bit shaken."

Mary nodded, sniffing softly.


	8. Chapter 8

"You should call him," Mary said over breakfast the next morning.

"Huh?" John glanced up from his newspaper, a piece of toast halfway to his mouth. "Call who?"

"Sherlock, you dummy," Mary said, chuckling. "Sounds like you two need to talk too. After your little shouting session."

"Oh. Right..." John put the newspaper down and sighed. "Not sure he's up yet, though..."

"Oh... You know his sleeping habits?" Mary teased. "But I agree. Not now. We have to leave for work soon and I doubt it'll be a short talk... But today, John. You should call him today. Don't let him go around thinking that you hate him and only kissed him because he's sort of famous."

John frowned. "From his reactions when I was there, I really doubt he cares. But I'll reach out to him. Text, maybe, so he can choose if he wants to talk or not."

Mary nodded and picked up her cup. Just before sipping her tea, she muttered something that might have been: "Coward." Or maybe not…

John drained his tea and then stood up. "I'd better get ready."

Mary nodded, getting up too.

"I still don't understand how you know Moriarty," he said, as he entered the bathroom.

"I have a past..." she said, smiling smugly as she kissed his cheek and then turned into the bedroom to pick out her clothes.

John swivelled round and stared at her, processing her words with his mouth slightly open. "You... what?" he said finally.

Mary just kept on smiling, as she put her clothes down on the bed. Then she laughed. "Oh John... I'm just teasing. I read about him online. After watching that professor film. There's quite a Sherwood fandom, you know."

"Oh... Of course." John blushed and tried not to picture Mary half-naked on a DVD cover.

"There's a lot of gossip about Sherlock and his boss," Mary said. "I'm surprised you didn't know about it." She picked up John's laptop and settled on the bed.

John frowned. "No, I didn't. I only read Sherlock’s own website. What kind of gossip, then?"

"You've been on his website?" Mary said, looking up at him. "Is it any good?"

"It's... interesting. He says a lot about the choices he makes in his films. Sometimes a bit unsettling, even."

"Unsettling?" Mary giggled. "How's that?"

"He predicts the effects a little too well," John mumbled, turning back to the sink.

Mary snorted and shook her head before focusing on the screen. A moment later she snorted again. "He's got quite an opinion of himself, hasn't he?"

"Quite," John agreed, allowing himself a smile before he continued shaving.

Mary read in silence for a bit. Then she began laughing.

"What is it?" John said, towelling off his face.

"There's an old film here. With him and Moriarty... _Relevé._ I didn't think he'd actually be promoting any of those..."

John frowned. "What does he say about it?"

Mary was quiet for a moment, reading. "Ooh..." she giggled. "He doesn't say much about it, but listen to this: ‘ _Though it was not planned, there is no denying that there is an illusion of chemistry in this film, that will appeal to those viewers who need more than just mechanical sex to engage them. In hindsight I have come to accept that this one film taught me much about the tools of the trade and what kind of work I wanted to focus on.’"_ Mary paused. “He goes on to mention some of his movies that were directly influenced by this experience. _Of One Mind_ is mentioned. And something called _Awakening..._ "

" _Awakening_?" John repeated. "What did you say it was called again?"

" _Relevé_ ," Mary said, getting off the bed. "Are you done out there? I would really love a quick shower before we leave."

"Go ahead," John said, drying his hands.

 

…

 

John absentmindedly took a bite of his sandwich, meanwhile staring at his phone, which lay in front of him on the desk. It was his lunch break; he could easily pick it up and type out a message. But he didn't have a clue what to say. And what use was it if Sherlock just deleted the text as soon as he read John's name on top of it?

Bite by bite the sandwich disappeared, and he was still staring at the phone, his mind rather blank. When he had finished eating, he quickly took care of some paperwork that was still waiting, and finally there were five minutes to spare before he had to go back to work. He groaned. Mary would kill him if he hadn't reached out to Sherlock by tonight.

Taking a deep breath, he took his phone and typed: ' _I am sorry. I've been a dick. Can we talk?'_

Shaking his head at the weak words, he pressed 'send' and then flung the phone to the furthest corner of his desk.

 

...

 

Even though John wasn't quite sure he _wanted_ an answer, he kept glancing at his phone between patients. When the last one was out, he still hadn't gotten a text, so well, that was that. Mary couldn't blame him; he'd taken up his side of the responsibility. If Sherlock didn't want anything to do with him, he had to respect that.

Mary entered his office as the patient left and John smiled up at her.

"Honey," she purred, bending down to give him a kiss. "What do you say we do something special tonight? Together?"

"Special?" John asked, a little surprised at her tone, but rather distracted by the kiss. "What kind of special?"

"I thought we could watch a movie tonight," she said, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

"Sure." John nodded, thinking that if she kept this up, they wouldn't get to see much of the movie at all.

"I've been looking for _Relevé_ online all day… When I wasn't supposed to be doing something else, of course..." She giggled. "But I figured you'd be the man for tracking it down..."

"Oh. _Oh_." John stared at her. "You want to watch... together?"

Mary shrugged, grinning slyly. "Well, I want to watch. And I would like for you to join me, but... If you don't feel like it..."

"Of course I do," John said, a little breathless. She had said _Awakening_ had been inspired by it - so yes, he was curious.

"Perfect." She kissed his cheek. "I'll just pop on down to Tesco and pick us up something easy for dinner. You can get the film and we'll meet by the car in... 20 minutes?"

"Uh," John said, still needing a moment to process their plans. "Can you pick me up at the video store instead? Makes more sense than walking back here."

Mary nodded and he followed her outside, feeling rather hazy.

 

Only when he was walking along the street in the direction of the store did he remember how awkward he had felt when he had gone to pick up those first two DVDs. It did help that Mary wasn’t judging him at all - but still, he’d rather find the film online, in peace, with no one looking over his shoulder. And if Mary wanted to surprise him by organising a film night, then why hadn’t she gone to get it herself?

It didn’t help at all that he, as he entered the shop, practically bumped right into Mike Stamford, who was chatting with a guy behind the counter.

“John!” he beamed. “How are you? What did you think of my recommendation?”

“Fine, thanks,” John said. “And the film was… okay…” He tried not to blush, but there was no way the other guy could know what they were talking about.

“Are you looking for something specific today?” Mike asked.

“Well…” John said, torn between the hope that Mike’s help would get him out of here faster and his reluctance to talk about this particular genre of films.

“You can take a break, Davy,” Mike told the kid behind the desk. “It’s not that busy yet anyway.”

The young man looked up gratefully and rushed out, already fumbling with a pack of cigarettes.

John nodded, glad that Mike had picked up on his need for privacy. “Actually I am looking for a certain title,” he admitted. “ _Relevé_.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Mike said, grinning. “Hooked on Sherwood, are you? I knew you’d like him. He _is_ the best thing on that Best-of.”

John cleared his throat. “My wife wants to see it.”

“Just a second.” Mike walked around the desk and typed something on his computer, but then his face fell. “Damn, that’s the one that we’ve lost. Someone rented it and never brought it back. But no worries,” he added as he saw John’s face, “I’ve got my own personal version. Just a second.” He dived under the desk and when he came up again, he was holding a small USB drive. “I’d just like to get it back in a couple of days. And don’t tell my bosses I’ve given you this… Nothing wrong with lending something to a friend, but if they know I’m handing out films without charging for them…”

“Thanks,” John said, taking the stick. “I’ll make sure to come in more often so your bosses won’t have anything to complain about.”

Mike laughed. “Always great to see you. We still need to make that pub date happen, by the way. But not tonight.” He nodded towards the door, where a car had stopped. “That’ll be for you, right? Have fun!”

“Ta.” John put the USB carefully in his shirt pocket and hurried outside, where Mary was indeed waiting in the car, looking smug.

“Got it,” he told her, patting his pocket.

"What? In there?" She gave his pocket a doubtful look. "What is it? A miniature?"

John giggled. "You'll see."

 

…

 

While their pizzas were in the oven, John copied the film from Mike’s USB to his laptop. Mary picked a bottle of wine and then went to change out of her work clothes while it breathed.

“Can you put out some plates?” she called from the bedroom.

“Of course,” John answered, and then, because he was feeling silly, he also got some candles out of a cupboard and lighted them.

“Oh…” Mary said as she entered the living room. “Feeling romantic, are we?” She giggled. “Convinced you’re going to get lucky tonight?” She walked over to John, wrapped her arms around him and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Actually… Yes,” John said, grinning.

They were just about to share a proper kiss when there was a loud ‘ding’ from the kitchen. “Ooh…” Mary pulled away from him. “Pizzas.” Laughing, she hurried to the kitchen.

“Cursed pizzas,” John said, loud enough for her to hear, and he laughed too as he sat down.

Mary was intently focused on her pizza for the first three slices. Then she took a large sip of her wine and leaned back a little. “So,” she said. “Did you talk to him?”

“No,” John said, sighing. “I tried, though. I texted him. But… he didn’t answer.”

“Oh John…” Mary sighed. “When will you grow a pair? You should just call him. Or go visit him. You do know where he lives, don’t you?”

“But if he’d _want_ to see me, he’d have answered, right?” John said defensively. “I’m not going to _stalk_ him.”

“Visiting him is not stalking,” Mary said. “Especially if you have left so many things unsaid. Both of you, probably.”

“Well, I’d go visit him, but I’ve got plans tonight,” John said, hoping to end the discussion and get back to _their_ evening.

“Tomorrow then,” Mary said. “After work. I can take the bus home.”

“Maybe… Fine, tomorrow,” John said quickly as he saw Mary’s face.

Satisfied, Mary nodded and then poured herself a new glass.

“Ready to watch?” John asked.

“Am I ever…” Mary pushed her chair back and stood up, holding her hand out to John. “Sofa or bed?”

“Let’s do sofa,” John said. “To at least pretend that we’ll be watching the whole thing.”

“Good idea,” Mary said, leading the way. “It’s been a while since we’ve ‘done’ sofa…”

John snorted and started the film.

 

 _‘Relevé’,_ in elaborate, curly letters, toned up on a dark background. A single soft note played (a violin, probably). Then the background changed to show the camera moving slowly through what appeared to be a dressing room at some kind of theatre. As a slow melody began to play, the word on the screen was replaced by ‘ _Starring: H. Sherwood and Jim Moriarty’._

John couldn’t help glaring at the second name.

The camera passed over a mirror surrounded by lights, a table filled with make-up and brushes, hairpins and cotton wads. Posters on the walls from past performances, but nothing distinct to let on what kind of theatre this was. Many of them looked pretty old. A full length mirror and a rack from which hung several costumes, most of them black or dark colours.

The camera pulled back and seemed to melt through the door, on which there was a single golden star attached. But no name. Turning, the camera glided down a long narrow corridor, indescript doors on either side. Then down a narrow flight of stairs. Another turn and then it was taking them through the drapes and onto a large wooden stage.

Right in the middle, in a single beam of light, a figure was standing. A man, his back to them. John immediately recognised Sherlock and had time to appreciate exactly how good the tight black looked on him.

Then he began moving.

That couldn’t be Sherlock, John realised. The face wasn’t visible, but the way he moved… That man was a professional dancer. Had to be. Probably a sort of body-double brought in to establish the character as a dancer. Because he was clearly meant to look like Sherlock. But there were subtle differences. He was, if possible, even leaner. The muscles were more defined. But still… With that hair, he was a bloody good likeness.

Mary let out a long shuddering breath. “Oh John…” she whispered. “He’s so beautiful…”

Should he tell her? Or let her believe the illusion? Then John gasped. The dancer had just executed a breathtaking pirouette and, without any cuts in which he could have been replaced, the camera zoomed in on his face, as he sank to his knees. Even with his eyes closed there could be no doubt. It _was_ him. It _was_ Sherlock.

John felt Mary’s hand in his. “I can’t believe it,” she said, her voice still almost a whisper. “So gorgeous, so smart and then he can move like that… It’s almost not fair, isn’t it.”

John just shook his head and pushed away the pang of guilt he felt at the sight of Sherlock’s face. He was watching this with Mary. It was okay to enjoy it and to appreciate the man’s beauty, even though he hadn’t talked things out with the actor.

The camera was spinning around Sherlock, kneeling on the stage, and then the music swelled as the violin was joined by what sounded like a whole orchestra. Sherlock jumped to his feet, the lights went up over the entire stage and he was surrounded by other dancers. His costume had changed to one that sparkled and had feather trimming around the ankles and wrists. He took the hands of two of the young female dancers and they all went forward in a line, to bow towards the audience, who were on their feet, applauding.

The camera made another circuit around Sherlock, showing him smile, pleased but not proud. Then it turned and showed the front row of clapping and cheering people. As it moved in on a young man, John realised he knew him. James Moriarty, dressed in an ill fitting dark suit, clapping as if his life depended on it. There was no hint of the menace or even the arrogance John had sensed last time he saw him. His smile was all innocent excitement and his eyes were sparkling as he was clearly looking at one particular dancer.

“Awh…” Mary breathed, leaning on John’s shoulder. “Someone’s got a crush…”

John didn’t find it quite as adorable, but decided to see where they went with this. The dance sure had been pleasant to watch, and if there were more of Sherlock’s solos in this film… “Can’t blame him,” he said, and Mary giggled.

As the curtain closed, the applause stopped and people began gathering their purses and things and heading for the aisles. Except Jim. He sat down in his seat, still looking up at the stage with a dreamy look in his eyes. With the lights on, it became clear that this film had been made years ago, as he looked young and almost small.

The scene cut to Jim walking along a dark but busy street, pulling his coat around him as if cold. But he was still smiling, even when he let himself into a very small, dingy flat. He undressed, which the camera took as an invitation to linger on all parts of his body, showing off that he wasn’t quite as skinny as he had seemed in the large suit. In fact he was quite fit. Especially his arms received a lot of focus and John sensed from Mary’s squirming that she, at least, approved. John himself didn’t quite see what was so erotic about arms, even if they were toned like that.

Naked, Jim lay down on the bed and, as the camera hovered above him, closed his eyes.

The picture blurred and when it came back into focus, it was Sherwood, not Jim, lying on a different bed. He smiled up at the camera and spoke that soundless ‘Hello’ that sent a shiver through John. The music in the background was a softer echo of what Sherlock had been dancing to and as the camera began to move down his body, John suspected that this was supposed to represent a dream or fantasy that Jim was having.

The scene was a briefer (and not quite as good, but still good) version of _Awakening_. Yet having the memory of the longer scene, it didn’t take long before John was completely hard in his trousers. A glance at Mary, who was licking her lips as she leaned towards the screen, told him that she too liked what she saw.

“Would you, er, mind if I take my trousers off?” John asked, and the look he received was all too pleased.

On the screen, Sherwood was about to come, but then the view changed and instead it was Jim, crying out with mixed pleasure and longing as he spilled over his own hand.

“Whew…” Mary said, fanning herself. “And we’re only what… 10 minutes in…” She glanced over at John. “Do you want a hand with that?” she asked, smiling.

“Not yet,” John said, trying to sound dignified as he kicked his trousers off. “Just needed a little more… room…”

Jim rolled over on his side and with a deep sigh appeared to be falling asleep.

The next bit was a montage of him going about his day. He worked in a restaurant doing the dishes and judging by the absent look in his eyes, it was probably a very good thing he wasn’t cooking, because his mind was clearly not on the job at hand.

Then it was evening and he was walking down the same street, hands deep in his pockets. He stopped in front of the theatre and stared longingly at a poster, featuring Sherwood in a very flattering pose. There was a line of people waiting to get in, but Jim stayed back, waiting. When they were finally gone, he went over to the ticket window, and the young woman there smiled at him.

“Sorry, love,” she said. “No cancellations tonight.”

Jim returned her smile, but the disappointment was plain in his eyes.

“Oh well,” he said, his voice so much softer than when he had spoken to John by the pool side. “Maybe tomorrow night.”

The girl nodded. “Maybe,” she said.

Mary sighed. “Awh, that poor thing,” she said. “So smitten…”

“Yeah,” John said. He had to admit that Jim was quite a good actor, almost making him feel disappointed too. “I’m sure they’ll be fine very soon, though…”

Mary nodded and giggled.

Jim gave the poster another longing look and then left. He seemed to be walking around for a very long time and then ended up back at the theatre as the chattering, happy audience was leaving. He turned a corner and made his way down a small alley to what must be the stage door, because soon a group of very beautiful young women, who were obviously dancers, came out. One of them noticed him and mouthed the word: ‘soon’, before the others pulled her along, giggling and whispering.

Jim retreated into the shadows, but he didn’t have to wait long. The door opened again and Sherwood appeared. But he was arm in arm with a smiling, pretty brunette. As they passed Jim, he pressed himself up against the wall, desperate not to be noticed. The pain in his eyes was heartbreaking and Mary gave John’s hand a hard squeeze.

Jim waited until they were out of sight, then began walking slowly towards the end of the alley. He was looking down, lost in his own miserable thoughts and almost walked right into the tall figure that suddenly appeared in front of him.

Sherwood smiled down at him. “I missed you tonight,” he said, his voice such a low rumble that John was surprised the laptop didn’t vibrate. “I looked for you.”

Jim actually turned bright red and couldn’t quite meet Sherwood’s eyes. “I… I couldn’t get a ticket…” he muttered.

Sherwood nodded. “Yes. The show is pretty popular. And still you’ve been to see it every night this week. Must have cost you a fortune.”

Jim shrugged. “I can manage,” he muttered.

There was a long pause where Sherwood studied Jim, who grew more and more uncomfortable, trying to look anywhere but at the dancer. Then Sherwood raised his hand, put two fingertips under Jim’s chin and gently lifted his head up.

“Hello,” he said, smiling.

“Hello,” Jim squeaked, looking like he might faint.

And then Sherwood was kissing him. It was tender at first. Romantic. Jim was hesitant. Nervous. But then Sherwood stroked his cheek gently and Jim almost surged up, grabbing hold of Sherwood’s hair and deepening the kiss.

Their lips still together, they stumbled back into the alley until Jim’s back was pressed up against the wall next to the stage door.

“Let’s hope everyone’s gone home,” John remarked, but Mary shushed him.

Hands began pulling at clothes, and soon both men’s chests were exposed. Sherwood bent down to lick and nip at Jim’s nipples, provoking a stream of moans and whines that should have seemed over the top, but instead only served to underline how much the shorter man had longed for this.

Sherwood straightened up to kiss him again and then thrust his hand down the front of Jim’s pants, making him cry out with surprise and lust. Jim managed to get his trousers open and Sherwood pulled them down past his hips before continuing to stroke him, slowly.

With his other hand, he freed his own cock and Jim seemed about to take hold of him, when Sherwood suddenly moved his hand away, grabbed Jim by the hips and lifted him up against the wall.

Jim did not hesitate in wrapping both arms and legs around Sherwood, helping to support his own weight as they kissed again. Sherwood’s hands wandered down to Jim’s arse, grabbing it hard. Then he reached behind him and pushed a finger slowly into Jim.

Jim got his hand on Sherwood’s cock and stroked him while Sherwood fucked him slowly first with one, then two and finally three fingers.

“Would you look at those hands…” Mary muttered, shifting on the sofa. “Those fingers… There should be a law against those…”

John snorted, but was rather mesmerised by the sight of the long fingers disappearing and reappearing again, too. “Do _you_ want a hand?” he teased.

Mary raised up his hand, examining it. “Not Sherwood fingers,” she said. “But they will do.” Without further ado, she pulled out the front of her knickers and shoved John’s hand down there.

A little surprised, John looked at her as he started moving his fingers.

Mary moaned softly and smiled at him, then turned back to watching the film. John admired her a moment longer, licking his lips, before he too focused on the screen again.

Sherwood was pulling his fingers out and taking hold of Jim’s hips again, lifted him up and then lowered him down onto his cock. Both men moaned and then they were kissing again as they began moving together, slow at first but soon both the speed and passion increased. Jim managed to get a hand between their bodies and soon after, he cried out as he came. He clung to Sherwood, panting, as the other finished with a few hard thrusts. The camera moved round to provide a gorgeous view of Sherwood’s arse, clenching as he climaxed.

“Bloody hell…” Mary moaned and reached out, her hand fumbling at the keyboard, pausing the movie.

“Do you want…” John started asking, but Mary’s lips on his answered the question before it was even asked.

John groaned and pulled her into his lap so he could reach her better, and it wasn’t long before she sagged against him, panting and giggling.

Mary pressed her hand against the front of his boxers. “What about you?” she purred. “Do you want me to… take care of you?”

John reflexively pressed up against her hand, but hesitated. “Do you want to watch more?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. “But I don’t want you suffering.”

“I’m not suffering,” John said, smiling a little. “I’d like to wait a little longer.”

Mary studied him for a moment, then shrugged, gave him another kiss and started the movie again.

Smiling, John leaned into her, tangled their hands and watched.

The two men were kissing now, lazily, as Sherwood eased out of Jim and gently lowered him so he could stand. They helped straighten each other’s clothes and then, after one final kiss, Sherwood stroked Jim’s cheek and said:

“I’ll leave a ticket for you tomorrow. Front row.” Then he turned and left, leaving a breathless and very happy Jim behind.

Next night, Jim was back in the front row and as the dancers bowed, Sherwood caught his eye and winked. Then they were in Jim’s bedroom, shagging as if their lives depended on it.

Back at work, Jim was clearly even more distracted and the scene kept changing to flashbacks of the night before.

After work he waited for Sherwood by the stage door, but this time, instead of joining him in the alley, Sherwood let him into the theatre when everyone else had left. Jim gave him an intense blowjob in his dressing room and then they made their way to the empty stage.

Jim was visibly trembling as Sherwood took his hands and led him through some slow, simple dance steps. Music began and soon they were dancing together, Sherwood strong and sure, Jim hesitant, but with growing confidence.

It surprised John a little how good they looked together. They didn’t take their eyes off each other, and he wondered if they had already resented each other then, or if there had been a time when they had really been close.

“Oh…” Mary said suddenly. “I like how they handled that…”

“Handled what?” John asked, startled from his thoughts.

“The dancing,” she said. “Usually in romantic movies, they’ll have a clumsy amateur turning into a pro in the hands of their loved one. But you can still see that Jim hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing. That Sherwood’s not teaching him. He’s guiding him. Making him look good, even though Sherwood is really doing all the work.”

John nodded, just as Jim fumbled a complicated step and tripped. But before he could fall, Sherwood had caught him in his arms, turning the accident into a graceful dip, finished with a deep kiss.

They continued dancing, but after this, the touches became more lingering. Sensual. They often paused to kiss and then clothes began coming off. They ended up completely naked, pressed together, panting for breath. The music paused as Sherwood bent down to kiss Jim and then he pulled away, just enough to get a hand between them. As he grasped them both and began stroking, he took Jim’s hand and placed it on his own arse.

Taking the hint, Jim reached down and began preparing him.

Jim seemed on the brink of orgasm when Sherwood suddenly let go and gave him a gentle push. As Jim lay down on his back, Sherwood straddled him and then, as the slow music started again, began rolling his hips slowly.

The movements were gentle, almost monotonous, but Jim’s hands were all over Sherwood’s body and the camera moved around them in a way that somehow made the whole thing dizzyingly hot. John’s cock was straining against the elastic fabric of his boxers, and he was contemplating taking them off too, when Mary spoke:

“I hope no one trips on a sticky stage floor tomorrow night.” She glanced at John and then broke down giggling.

John’s mind unhelpfully provided a slapstick image of one of the female dancers making a pirouette and slipping, and for a while he was laughing so hard that he didn’t see what happened on screen.

Suddenly Mary poked him hard in the ribs. “Look at them,” she said. “I wouldn’t think it possible to be that cute.”

Sherwood and Jim were in a bed now. Not Jim’s small one in the dark flat, but a large soft bed with brilliant white sheets. They were lying on their sides, facing each other, whispering, giggling and kissing. All they needed was a big pink heart around them and they could have been the perfect Valentine’s Day card.

John tried not to wince. They were so sweet it was almost sickening. And the soppy, all too reverent looks Jim threw Sherwood suddenly made it all hard to believe. Apparently it still worked for Mary, but John hoped they would move on to something more interesting soon.

And indeed, it didn’t take long before Jim, grinning slyly, slipped beneath the covers. Sherwood rolled onto his back and closed his eyes as Jim obviously began sucking him off, though the white sheets covered most of it. Sherwood’s face was more than enough, though. The way his jaw slacked, clearly trying to suck in air but too overwhelmed by pleasure to manage much more than moaning… John’s hand had slipped into his boxers before he knew it, and he felt Mary shift beside him.

After the blowjob followed a literally very steamy shower scene. And then there was one of those montages to show that they were indeed having a relationship. Walking hand in hand, having dinner, laughing together, dancing together and having lots of sex in a variety of places. There weren’t any more close shots of Sherwood alone, so John removed his hand and felt himself cool down a little.

Then things changed. Sherwood came home to the large flat they were now sharing, all sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks. He’d been offered a job. In New York. Jim barely had time to look nervous before Sherwood assured him that he was coming too. Of course.

After a celebratory shag that left Mary quite flushed, the scene shifted to them at the airport, then on the plane. And then the film skipped the obligatory ‘We’re in New York’ shots of landmarks and busy streets and instead showed them moving into their new, smaller, flat.

Sherwood started his new job and Jim went job hunting, soon finding work as a bartender in a small club.

And then the problems started. Sherwood was out the door first thing in the morning, returning late in the evenings, absolutely exhausted. And Jim was rarely home before after midnight, by which time Sherwood was sound asleep. They hardly ever saw each other and they were both making new friends. Several of the other dancers were visibly interested in Sherwood (drawn by a combination of talent, good looks and a, to them, adorable British accent). And Jim was getting offers both from customers and one of the other bartenders.

“Oh no....” Mary whispered as a late night rehearsal slipped over into a very bisexual fivesome. Sherwood, usually such an ardent lover, was mostly passive, letting the other men and women use his body, almost worshipping it. Then the scene changed to Jim working the bar, looking almost distraught, as if he somehow sensed what was happening. After a particularly difficult customer, he went out back and began to cry. His colleague found him and while comforting, they began kissing.

The scene now shifted back and forth between Sherwood’s orgy and Jim having quite desperate sex with the other bartender in the alley behind the bar.

During one of Jim’s moments, John looked back at Mary, and saw that she was actually looking upset. Frowning, he put an arm around her and pulled her close. “Should we turn this off?”

She shook her head. “It won’t end like this,” she muttered. “They’ll work it out.”

“Probably,” John said, nodding, but he found himself thinking that perhaps it would be a happier ending if both men could go their own way. Sherlock wouldn’t be happy with someone who constantly looked as though they had swallowed a whole sweets shop and treated him like spun glass. He would need witty retorts and excitement. But then he remembered that this was just a character. This was Sherwood, not Sherlock - and seriously, why did he have such strong feelings on what kind of relationships a man he hardly knew would choose to have?

He kissed Mary’s temple and tried not to think too much as the film moved on to the next morning.

Jim was curled up in their bed, crying again, when Sherwood walked in, tired and with a blank sort of look in his eyes. He stood for a moment watching Jim, then muttered: “What happened?”, as he sat down on the other side of the bed.

“I’m so sorry…” Jim gasped through the tears. “I was so lonely and I… I just needed to feel… anything…”

Sherwood looked stricken, but then he nodded. “Of course,” he said, getting up again. “I see…”

“You see?” Jim finally looked at him. “That’s all you’ve got to say? Aren’t you angry? Hurt?”

Sherwood shook his head, walking towards the bathroom. “No,” he said. “I understand. It’s not easy living like this. I don’t blame you.” He disappeared into the bathroom.

Jim stared at the closed door for a couple of seconds, then jumped up and stormed after him. In the fight that followed, it was painfully clear that both men were more angry at themselves than at the other one. But they still kept screaming at each other. Jim was desperate to make Sherwood show any kind of emotion while Sherwood, completely drained it seemed, just wanted to be left alone. The expression vaguely reminded John of how Sherlock had looked when he had been shouting at him, but he quickly put that thought out of his mind.

Finally Jim declared that he was going back home and Sherwood screamed that he thought that was the best idea he’d ever had. They stared angrily at each other for a long, very tense moment, and then they both charged forward, practically attacking each other for what turned out to be the angriest sex John had ever seen or indeed imagined. All he could think while it went on and on was that he wouldn’t be watching anything with Jim again. Where he had been all too sugary before, he looked like an angry cat now, scratching and biting Sherwood everywhere, though without really hurting him, while Sherwood was fighting his own battle for dominance, using his greater height and strength to pin Jim down or against the walls and furniture.

“Oh, you silly boys…” Mary whispered. “That’s not going to solve anything…”

“Not sure anything can still be solved between those two,” John answered, feeling strangely detached from the film now.

“Don’t say that,” Mary said and then sniffed.

“Come here,” John said, kissing her gently. “Are you sure we should keep watching?”

“Of course we should,” she snapped, then gave him an apologetic smile. “It’s a movie. You know they’ll work it out in the end.”

“It’s Sherwood,” John pointed out. “Always expect the unexpected.”

“I’m having my happy ending,” Mary said stubbornly. “Or I’m personally tracking him down and kicking his bum.”

John giggled.

On the screen it was evening. Sherwood and Jim were asleep in each other’s arms when Jim’s phone buzzed. He quickly turned off the alarm and then extricated himself from Sherwood’s embrace without waking him. He gathered his clothes and picked up the bag by the door, then tiptoed out.

“Looks like he’ll be getting his kick,” John commented.

While Jim cried on the plane, Sherwood was pacing their flat, looking both angry and very very sad. Then he picked up his bag and went back to work.

Back in London, Jim got a new job (better than the one he had left), reconnected with friends and went on with his life. But he still seemed sad, his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

It had been spring when they had their fight in New York. Now London was decorated for Christmas and Jim was out shopping, arm in arm with some friends, when suddenly he stopped and just stared as if he’d seen a ghost.

Mary practically tackled John. “It’s him,” she squeaked. “It has to be him.”

“Of course it’s him,” John chuckled, ruffling her hair.

Jim let go of his friends, dropped his shopping bags on the ground and set off at a run.

Finally the shot changed to show Sherwood, dressed in a familiar long dark coat and with a scarf wrapped tight around his neck, beaming happily as he held out his arms which were quickly filled by Jim, kissing him eagerly.

Mary was openly crying now and she did not let go of John as the two on the screen rushed to Jim’s new flat and got thoroughly reacquainted. When they finally ended up in bed, the camera remained almost solely on Sherwood - the way his muscles moved, how he threw back his head, moaning loudly, his eyelids fluttering and his cock pounding into Jim over and over. John’s mouth had gone dry as he stared at the screen, and his own erection was back to full interest. He pulled Mary into his lap again.

“I could really use a hand now,” he whispered hoarsely.

Mary’s giggle was rather breathless as she nodded and began palming John through his pants. But she did not take her eyes off the screen. “He’s gorgeous and all,” she muttered. “But isn’t the cameraman a bit fixated on him?”

“I really don’t mind,” John muttered.

“I know you don’t,” she said, giving him a soft squeeze. “But I like both of them.”

John groaned. “Can we just… please…?”

Without taking her hand off John, Mary began squirming out of her knickers. “I hope you’re up for more than a handjob,” she purred.

“Definitely.” John had to close his eyes so he’d stop looking at Sherwood.

Mary had no such qualms. She pushed John down on his back so that she could straddle him while still watching the screen, and yanked his pants down.

 

…

 

The end credits were still rolling when they flopped down together on the sofa, Mary on top of John, both sweaty and grinning.

“Oh look…” Mary muttered. “They wrote it together, see?” She pointed a shaky finger at the screen.

John grunted and threw his arm over his eyes. “How the hell can you still read?”

“I’m a woman,” Mary said. “We can multitask…”

“Good for you.” He felt like he could fall asleep any second.

“Oi,” Mary said. “Don’t you dare nod off. Not now. Doing on the sofa is one thing, but you need to get to bed. Or you’ll be stiff as a board in the morning. And I don’t mean in a good way.”

John grinned and removed his arm. “Pretty sure I’ll be stiff in the morning anyway, after this.” He let Mary pull him along to the bedroom, feeling floppy and blissful.


	9. Chapter 9

Just as John had predicted, he _was_ rather stiff in the morning, and after a very pleasant though hurried shared shower, he made Mary breakfast.

"Still no word from Sherlock?" Mary asked, sipping her first cup of tea.

"I didn't really expect him to text me overnight." John shrugged. "He'll have... other things to do."

"Probably," she said. "But still... Maybe you should give him a call..."

"After work," John said. "I've promised you. Though..." He hesitated.

"Though...?" Mary looked up at him, frowning a little.

"Well... When I watch these films, I... I'm not sure it's... men..." At the sight of Mary's look, he quickly continued talking. "I mean, I can see they're good looking. And when they're with Sherwood, it's usually pretty hot. But basically I think it's just him..."

"But John," she said, smiling a little. "You were having these thoughts before you even saw Sherlock, remember? About men in general."

"I know," John said, "but no one else has that effect on me..."

"Of course not, John." Mary took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You've fallen for him. Like you've fallen for me. Do other women make you feel like I do?"

"No, of course not," John said. "But I'm not in love with Sherlock... am I? And if I was, that's all the more reason to stay away from him."

"I don't think you can call it love," Mary said softly. "Not yet. But you've obviously got a crush on him. And... that is definitely not reason to stay away."

John hesitated. "I think I'd be jealous. If the situation were reversed."

"I know you would," Mary said, laughing. "I kind of like it that you're that way. Makes me feel safe. Special. But John... You must have noticed that I'm not like that. I've never minded you flirting. With men or with women. And I don't mind sharing you. As long as I know you're still mine. And as long as it makes you happy."

John stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "It just doesn't really feel fair."

"Oh, it's not like I'm getting nothing out of this," Mary said, giggling. "The way we have been going at it lately. I have Sherlock to thank for that."

John chuckled, but then realised something. "It's not fair to Sherlock, either."

"And how would you know?" Mary asked. "You have no idea what he wants. A relationship, a fling or maybe just a friend."

"No. Of course." John bit his lip. In fact he didn't know if Sherlock even wanted to talk to him, but here he was, assuming he'd want to be in a relationship with him. While the very thought was ridiculous.

 

…

 

John kept pacing back and forth on the pavement. It was outrageous. He really shouldn't be nervous about ringing a doorbell, but he couldn't help it. He only hoped Sherlock would be home, because he didn't think he'd find the courage to return later.

Finally he pressed the button, and it wasn't long before the door opened.

"Oh," the landlady said, pursing her lips and crossing her arms. "You. You have a lot to answer for, young man."

John found he couldn't quite meet the short woman's eyes. "Yes, I know. Is Sherlock home?"

She nodded.

"Can I come in?"

She let him pass, disapproval radiating off her, and he climbed the stairs with her eyes boring into his back. John wondered how much she knew, and if perhaps she had heard him shout last time. The thought made him cringe again.

At the top of the stairs, he knocked on the door to the flat and waited.

At first there was no reaction. Then slow footsteps could be heard. They stopped, as if Sherlock was standing right on the other side of the door, unsure whether to open it or not.

John stood staring at the door handle, hoping it would move down. When it didn't, he knocked again. "Sherlock?"

With a soft sigh, Sherlock opened the door. The flat behind him was dark and it took a moment for John to realise that the actor was wearing nothing but a white sheet, draped around his shoulders.

"Er... Good evening," John said, suddenly completely lost for words.

"It is?" Sherlock grumbled, turned his back and disappeared into the gloom of the apartment.

John took a few steps into the room. "I... I think we need to talk."

"Obviously," Sherlock said, laying down on the sofa, flinging one arm over his eyes. "Now that you've settled things with Mary. She is a very unique woman."

"She is," John said, nodding. "She's amazing. I'm lucky I've got her. And I've been an incredible dick to you."

Sherlock lowered his arm and looked over at John. "What?"

"Coming here to shout at you," John said, stopping halfway across the room. "I made a mistake and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked him up and down, then shrugged and covered his eyes again. "So it was a mistake? A mishap? An accident?"

"Believing what Jim fucking Moriarty said about you, just because I was confused? Yes, I think it was," John said quietly.

"Oh... That..." Sherlock smiled a little. "Don't worry about it. James can be very convincing. I should have warned you."

John shook his head. "You aren't to blame, Sherlock. I was all too happy to believe him. That it was some kind of trick that had made me cheat on my wife. But it wasn't, was it? I think it surprised you too."

"I knew there was an attraction," Sherlock said. "I hadn't expected you to act on it so suddenly." He looked puzzled. "I underestimated you."

For a moment John smiled, but then he turned serious again. "It doesn't have to happen again. We can just be friends. I do enjoy your company and I'm sorry I couldn't support you when it came to your project."

"Mary doesn't object," Sherlock said. "If you want it to happen again, there is no reason why it shouldn't."

"Oh." John sank down in a chair. "Just... Just for now, or..." How was he supposed to find out how far Sherlock wanted to take this?

"You're asking me?" Sherlock laughed and sat up. "I've never done anything like this before. I mean... I've let men kiss me, of course. And sometimes gone further, but..." He frowned. "I really like you, John. I trust you. That has never happened to me before."

John blushed. "I really like you too. But you can do so much better than me. I'm married and just... ordinary. I'd fully understand if this had been a one-time thing."

"Didn't you hear me, John?" Sherlock looked confused. "I just told you I've never experienced something like this with _anyone_."

"Oh." John swallowed. "I don't know what to say now. I'm... flattered."

Sherlock smiled at his words, but still looked slightly bewildered.

"Right." John cleared his throat. "Shall I make us some tea?"

"Uhm, I... I don't know if I have any..." Sherlock frowned, glancing towards the kitchen where every surface was taken up by what seemed to be most of the equipment from a medium sized lab.

"Oh. A coffee man?" John asked.

"No... It's just... Mrs Hudson usually brings me tea..." he said. "I haven't made any myself since moving here..."

"Ah. Well, I guess we'd better not go and bother her for tea, since she didn't seem too happy to see me just now," John said.

Sherlock chuckled. "No. She's convinced someone has 'broken my heart'. And you are the prime suspect."

"Right." John smiled. "Maybe we could go out. I was a bit nervous about coming here, so didn't manage to eat much, and if you don't even make your own tea..."

Sherlock jumped to his feet. "I know just the place," he said. "Just give me a moment.”

As he strode down the small hall to what was probably the bedroom, he let go of the sheet, which hit the floor just before the door closed behind him.

John was still staring at the door when it opened again. "You weren't wearing any pants," he said when he met Sherlock's questioning gaze.

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm pretty sure you've seen it all before," he said. "Up close even." John's expression made him laugh and then add: "You're my doctor, John."

"Yes, but I'm not here as your doctor," John muttered, feeling his ears go red.

“So?” Sherlock looked confused again.

“Well, it’s different when I’m not thinking of you as my patient. Distracting, I mean.”

“You’ve seen my movies too,” Sherlock said. “Surely you weren’t thinking of me as your patient when watching those.”

“They _are_ very distracting,” John pointed out, smiling.

Sherlock considered this. “In a good way, right?” he asked.

John studied his face for a moment, wondering if he was joking. “Yes, of course,” he said incredulously.

“So what’s the problem?” Sherlock asked, reaching for his coat.

John chuckled. “Didn’t say there was one.”

 

…

 

As they were walking side by side, John couldn’t quite stop grinning. He had been so sure Sherlock would throw him out and tell him he didn’t want to see him ever again, that he hadn’t even allowed himself to think of how things could turn out well instead. Mary would be pleased. And he had almost forgotten how easy Sherlock was to be around. Even though they didn’t talk much as they walked, there was a strong sense of companionship.

It wasn’t very far to the restaurant, which was cosy and had a friendly waiter waving them to a table immediately. Clearly Sherlock came here often, which reassured John that at least he must eat sometimes.

Once they were seated by the window, a tall man with a ponytail and a beard hurried over to their table, beaming.

“Sherlock!” he cried, shaking Sherlock’s hand eagerly. “Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. For you and your date.” He winked at John as he put the menus on the table.

John’s ears went red again. He wasn’t quite sure either of them considered this a _date_. He glanced at Sherlock, who just smiled and then turned back to the man who must be the host of the restaurant.

“This man here made me a fortune,” the man said, still beaming.

Sherlock shrugged. “This is Angelo,” he told John. “He was the one who gave me my first job.”

“Made my entire career,” Angelo said, nodding eagerly.

“I got it started,” Sherlock said. “I was hardly your only actor.”

“You were the best. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have been out of the business before I had even started.” He turned to John. “If it weren’t for him, I’d have lost everything.”

“You owned several magazines at the time,” Sherlock told him. “Not making it in movies wouldn’t have made that much of a difference.” He picked up the menus and gave them back to Angelo. “He’ll have the special,” he said.

“Very good,” Angelo said. “I’ll get a candle for the table. It’s more romantic.” He winked at John again and then left.

“Why does he assume…” John started, feeling confused. “I mean… Do you often bring dates here?”

“I’ve never brought anyone here,” Sherlock said, smiling. “So he must have realised you were someone special. Not a bad deduction on his part.”

John was saved from answering that by Angelo’s return. The man put a tealight on the table and then gave John the thumbs-up before he turned and walked off again.

“Er, thanks,” John muttered, half to him and half to Sherlock. “So… Jim. He’s kind of your arch enemy, is he?”

Sherlock tensed visibly. "He's my boss..." he muttered, examining his wineglass.

"Sorry." John cleared his throat, not wanting to make Sherlock uncomfortable. "Did you find a way yet to get out of his project?"

"Yes," Sherlock leaned forward a little, suddenly eager. "I need you to give me another check-up. Get some... inconclusive results..."

"Oh," John said. "It hasn't been three months, but I suppose you could say you were worried about some symptoms. Only... The chance isn't so big that it will be inconclusive again. Your second test was okay."

"I'm pretty sure I know how to fix that," Sherlock said. "I've been reading up on it. As long as you use the lab at Bart’s, I can change the sample just enough to get the right result. But then... And here comes the tricky bit. We need to time it just right. So that I can be cleared to film two days later."

John sighed. "Isn't there an easier way, Sherlock? Can't you just set your conditions to him? It can't be legal for him to force you into doing things you really don't want to do."

"I'm obligated to do the film," Sherlock said, looking grim. "He hasn't declared that he intends for me to get hurt. It will just... happen... Afterwards I can complain, but he will have ruined any chance of me doing my own project."

"But the bruises can be disguised..." John said slowly. "Or are we talking about worse things?"

"In the water? For twenty minutes?" Sherlock shook his head slowly. "Swelling? Maybe cuts? You don't know Moran. He can get really vicious. He's done stuff even Jim wouldn't release."

John frowned. "I want to help you. I mean, I owe you. But I'd still rather you told him that you want out. Even if that endangers your project, there must be a chance to do it later, no?"

"Not in that house," Sherlock said. "And if I refuse a job I violate my contract. I can't afford that... yet..."

"I really hope that project of yours works out," John said, quietly sipping the wine Angelo had just brought. "So you can get away from GOFFT."

"It will," Sherlock said confidently. "As long as Moran doesn't put me in the hospital first."

John nodded. "Let's take care of that, then," he said with a small smile.

They discussed when Sherlock should come in for his test to make sure he'd miss Jim's project but would be cleared for his own, and then Angelo returned with John's food.

"Thanks," John said, expecting him to put a plate in front of Sherlock too, but as he looked up, Angelo's hands were empty. John frowned; he had assumed that Sherlock had ordered the same as him, or perhaps that Angelo had already known what to bring Sherlock.

"Aren't you eating?" he asked.

Sherlock just shrugged, but Angelo laughed. "Oh, he never does. I had to force him. Show him how his ribs being visible ruined otherwise perfect pictures. But I doubt his current boss has such concerns." He glared at Sherlock and his tone changed. "I still can't believe you went on to work for that little shit."

"So Jim was always like that?" John asked.

"No," Angelo said, frowning. "When he first came to work for me, he was a darling lad. A bit of a rascal, but he could charm the pants off anyone. Except Sherlock..."

"I think you're needed at the bar," Sherlock interrupted, looking out the window.

"Right..." Angelo said. "Excuse me." With an apologetic smile to John, he left.

"Why did you stop working for Angelo?" John asked when he was gone.

"I didn't," Sherlock answered. "He left the business. Said he wanted to pursue his other passion."

"Oh." That did make more sense, John thought. Angelo seemed nice enough and he clearly was too fond of Sherlock to ever have fired him. "I'd say it's a shame, but this is delicious. You really should order something. I'll pay."

"I know it's delicious," Sherlock said. "He stuffs me with this stuff every chance he gets. But I'm not hungry. I'm thinking."

John rolled his eyes. "One can perfectly eat and think at the same time. Here." He loaded his fork with chicken and pasta and held it out to Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in a rather childish manner and leaned forward opening his mouth.

"You're supposed to take the fork!" John protested, his ears going red as he was sure Angelo was watching from behind the bar.

Sherlock just shrugged and leaned back in his chair again.

"Well, if I can get you to eat this way, I guess it's worth it." John popped a cherry tomato into his own mouth and then went about preparing another bite for Sherlock.

Obediently Sherlock opened his mouth, but as he accepted the bite, he caught John's eyes with such a suggestive look that John almost dropped the fork.

"Don't do that," he hissed, shifting on his chair.

“Oh?” Sherlock said after swallowing. “You can fellate your tomatoes but I can’t have a bit of fun?”

“F- what? I’m just eating!”

“Sure, John,” Sherlock said, smiling smugly.

“I _am_!”

“Then I hope I get to see you flirt some day,” Sherlock said. “I’m going to have to take notes.”

John snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He hardly dared take his next bite now, conscious of his every move.

Sherlock didn’t make it any easier, as he was still studying him intently, still with that infuriating smile on his lips.

Trying to ignore him, John took another bite of pasta, but one of the strings fell back out of his mouth, so he had to suck it in.

"Oh John..." Sherlock said with an exaggerated gasp. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

John raised his eyebrows. "Am I succeeding?"

"Too early to tell," Sherlock said, winked and stole a piece of chicken from John's plate.

John chuckled and pushed another piece of chicken his way.

 

...

 

"That was delicious," John told Angelo when he came to get his plate. "Didn't you think so, Sherlock?"

"Oh yes," Sherlock said. "John put on quite the show. If you had caught it on camera, you could have been back in business."

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock seems to have forgotten that putting things in your mouth while eating is a very normal thing to do."

"Oh, but John... It's not just putting things in your mouth. It's how you do it. Isn't that right, Angelo?" Sherlock looked up at the man, blinking innocently.

"You should know, kid," he said, ruffling Sherlock's hair. "I was the one who taught you that."

"As if he needed to be taught," John mumbled, but he smiled a little at the affectionate gesture.

Angelo laughed. "Oh, you should have seen him in his first film... I don't think he'd ever had one in his mouth before. He was right eager and his partner certainly enjoyed it, but... It didn't exactly look good." Sherlock's smile vanished and his cheeks turned slightly pink, but Angelo either didn't notice or didn't care as he continued: "I had to sit him down and explain about aesthetic and..." He lowered his voice. "You know... erotic. Next time he showed up on set, you would think he was a pro. I reckon he went home, read an entire library and practised on anything vaguely phallic he could find. He's such a perfectionist."

"Right..." Sherlock said, pushing his chair back. "We shouldn't be taking up time and space..."

John tried his best not to burst out laughing. "I think that was _just_ a bit too much information. But there's no need to run, Sherlock."

"You've got nothing to be ashamed of and you know it," Angelo told Sherlock. "You are a star. One of a kind. If they were all like you, I never would have given up on UMQRA."

"UMQRA?" John said, wondering if he actually wanted to know what that stood for.

"Universal Mature Quality Recreation by Angelo," Angelo declared proudly.

Sherlock laughed. "No fairies here, John."

"Fortunately," John said.

“Fairies?” Angelo looked puzzled for a second then raised his eyebrows. “Oh… Jimmy’s business. Imagine Sherlock ending up working for him. That’s irony for you.”

“You thought it’d go the other way round?” John asked.

“Sherlock was the one who trained the lad,” Angelo said. “Taught him the trade, so to speak. Jim was such an innocent little lamb when he washed up on my doorstep. Couldn’t get his kit off without blushing.”

“Which made for some very captivating footage, as far as I recall,” Sherlock interjected.

Angelo nodded, laughing at the memory.

“I must say he didn’t strike me as particularly shy,” John muttered, thinking of the man talking to him by the swimming pool.

“Oh no,” Sherlock said. “Making adult films for a couple of years will do that to a man. Even James.”

Angelo frowned and looked at Sherlock like he wanted to say something, but changed his mind.

John looked from one to the other. There was something here they weren’t telling, but he thought he’d better not ask. It was none of his business, anyway.

“Anyway…” Angelo finally said, clearing his throat. “I decided to call it a day, Sherlock wanted to go freelance and Jimmy… Well, he surprised us all, didn’t he. Building his own little empire in surprisingly short time. He and that brawny boyfriend of his.”

Sherlock huffed.

“Wait, that colonel guy is his boyfriend?” John asked.

“Colonel… Hardly…” Sherlock growled.

“Oh, I think Moran was in the military once,” Angelo said. “But I doubt he was ever an officer. Doesn’t have the right… temperament.”

“From what I’ve seen and heard, you’re right,” John said, frowning.

“I was only too happy to get rid of those two,” Angelo continued. “But… I was sad to lose Sherlock.”

“You didn’t lose me,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “You still get to feed me and embarrass me on a regular basis. I just don’t work for you anymore.”

“I know,” Angelo said with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s just killing me that you have to work for _him_. Why, Sherlock? Why didn’t you stick to your plan?”

“I gave it a shot,” Sherlock said. “But… Apparently I’m ‘not easy to work with’. After a couple of failed attempts, I was pretty much reduced to making solo projects. Stamford was the only cameraman who would work with me and even he was getting fed up.” Sherlock sighed. “I needed to actually publish something, to make money for my own projects and I just didn’t have enough of a name to sell my solos. Back then, at least. Then Irene came along and offered me a one-shot.”

Angelo snorted. “I really should take the time to see that one day.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” John muttered.

“Anyways…” Sherlock said, glaring at the two of them. “Painful as that experience was, it did get my name back out there again, so I was hoping to be offered more work. But the only one that offered was James… So we set up a very specific contract. For every film I do for him, he’ll finance one of my projects.”

“Oh…” Angelo nodded. “I can see why you took that deal.”

“But it’s not as ideal now,” John said. “If he thinks it’s a way to make you do things you never would…”

“Not never…” Sherlock muttered, suddenly seeing something very interesting outside the window. “Just not… not now…”

“What is he talking about, Sherlock?” Angelo asked. When Sherlock shrugged, he turned to John. “What exactly is this about?”

Hesitantly, John looked at Sherlock, hoping he hadn’t said too much. “Sherlock isn’t too happy about what Jim has in mind for him next.”

“And what might that be, exactly?” Angelo grumbled, squaring his shoulders as he stared down at Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to ignore him, but when it didn’t work he sighed and muttered: “Moran…”

“What?” Angelo roared, and several guests dropped their knives and forks, resulting in a moment of chaos, during which Angelo was still staring at Sherlock who was still staring out the window.

John was startled how fierce the big, friendly man suddenly looked. He hadn’t seen much action from Moran yet, but it sounded like the garage scene had been an unusually gentle piece of his work.

“Let me guess,” Angelo said when it became clear Sherlock wasn’t going to answer. “It’ll be one of his… ‘special’ projects?”

Sherlock’s nod was almost imperceptible.

“But… You’re not doing it,” Angelo said. “Of course you’re not.”

“Of course I’m not,” Sherlock echoed. “John’s going to help me.”

“Help you say no?” Angelo asked, raising an eyebrow. “Sherlock, you’re a big boy. Surely you don’t need anyone holding your hand.”

“I can’t say no,” Sherlock muttered. “If I do, then he can stop my next project. The one that will finally let me break free of him.”

Angelo’s eyes darkened as he seemed to put the whole picture together very quickly.

“If I get my hands on that little shit…” the large man muttered and then abruptly turned away and stomped off to the kitchen.

John smiled a little. “I kind of hope he does…”

“He won’t,” Sherlock said. “He’ll just go pound on some beef or pizza dough and then go out back to have a smoke. He’ll be all smiles and hugs in ten minutes. So…” He pushed his chair back and got up. “That’ll be our cue to get out of here.”

“Oh. Right.” John stood up too, but kept his hands on the chair for a moment. “Sure I shouldn’t leave Angelo my number? Just in case he changes his mind, so I can cheer when he’s going after James?”

Sherlock froze and then blinked a few times quickly, before turning and leaving the restaurant. John got out his wallet, but was waved away by the waiter, and Sherlock hadn’t gotten far when he hurried after him into the cool air.

“Sherlock?” John called, catching up with him. “Did I say something wrong?”

Sherlock just shook his head, as he reached up to turn up the collar of his coat and seemed to speed up a little.

John frowned. Was the idea of someone giving Jim a well-deserved punch in the face that disturbing to Sherlock? “You can just tell me if you’re trying to shake me off, you know,” he said.

Sherlock stopped abruptly. “I’m not,” he said. “I just need to… to think…”

“Right.” John studied his face in the street lights, but it didn’t tell him much. “But I’ve already said I’ll help you. It’s fine. So what’s so urgent to think about now?”

Sherlock looked down at him and cocked his head slightly. “You,” he said. “I just can’t work you out.”

“Oh,” John said, taken aback. “Is that… a good thing?”

“I’m not sure,” Sherlock said. “I’ve never met anything like you… Anyone who cared like that…”

“Angelo cares about you. And I’m pretty sure your landlady does, too,” John pointed out.

“Not in that way,” Sherlock said. “At least… I hope they don’t…”

John chuckled. “Maybe not. But I’ve told you… It’s all fine. I don’t want the fact that I… care… to make you uncomfortable.”

Sherlock took a moment to take in his words. Then he leaned forward, bending down a bit. But before his lips could touch John’s, he hesitated. “Is it… okay?” he asked, looking into John’s eyes.

Part of John wanted to shout: “Very!”, but he hesitated too. “You… You don’t have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?” he asked.

Sherlock chuckled. “If I had, I would have told you by now.” He tilted his head a little, licking his lips.

“Right,” John said, his eyes following the movement of Sherlock’s tongue, mesmerised. “Then, er… Then it’s okay.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We want to thank you all for the awesome comments!

“Did you kiss him?” Mary asked, practically tackling John when he came through the door.

“No,” John said, hugging her and smiling.

“What?” she pushed him away. “John… You coward…”

“I wouldn’t say that,” John said, trying to suppress his grin. “Not tonight, at least.”

She frowned. “John Watson… What are you not telling me?”

Now he couldn’t hold back a wide, smug grin. “ _He_ kissed _me_. Well, maybe ‘snogged me senseless’ is a better expression...”

Mary stared at him for a full five seconds. Then she squealed. “He did? Was it good? Did you take pictures?”

John started laughing. “Yes, of course, I was going to stop him to take out my phone! Silly. But yeah… It was pretty amazing.”

“Arh…” Mary pouted. “I’m so jealous… Why can’t I have my own gorgeous porn star?”

John’s smile fell. “You… You’re still okay with it, right?”

“Of course I am,” she said, raising one hand to stroke his cheek gently. “I mean… John… You should see yourself… So happy. You’re practically sparkling. I want you to have this. I do.” She leaned in and kissed him. “I just want you to share it with me, okay? Tell me about it? Let me in on your happiness.”

John nodded. “But if you ever do get jealous… Please tell me, right? I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry,” Mary said, pulling him in for another hug. “If I ever do get jealous, you’ll be the first person to know. When you wake up in the night to the searing pain when I chop your cock off…” She giggled.

“Oh, that’s a relief,” John said in a slightly-too-high voice, but he chuckled and pulled her to the sofa. “How much detail do you want, then?”

“All of it,” she said, snuggling up to him. “What was he wearing? What did he say? Did he use tongue?”

 

…

 

The muscles in John’s face were starting to protest a little at the goofy smile he’d been wearing all day, but that didn’t stop him from replaying the kiss over and over in his head. After he and Sherlock had finally broken apart, beaming at each other, they had walked back to Baker Street, close but not quite touching. When they stood by John’s car, Sherlock had invited him back into the flat, but John had excused himself, saying that he needed to report to Mary. Then he had taken Sherlock’s hand and told him to text when he had time to meet again, hoping that Sherlock wouldn’t feel like he wasn’t important, just something to spice up their marriage… Yet when Sherlock’s lips were on his again and John’s hands tangled in his curls, it was clear that they both knew that wasn’t true. This was just as much about them.

John had to shake off the feeling of those soft, curved lips against his skin time and again before another patient walked in, and it was a relief when it was finally time for his break. Today, too, that was spent glancing at his phone, but now he wasn’t collecting courage to text - just thinking _what_ he’d say. Sherlock wouldn’t mind being disturbed by him, of that John was fairly certain after last night. But wouldn’t he think it too silly if John told him he couldn’t stop thinking of his mouth? And wouldn’t that make it sound too much like John was only interested in his body?

Yet he couldn’t say something too empty, too much like small talk. He was genuinely interested in what Sherlock would be up to today, wanted him to know he was thinking of him, and preferably also find out when he’d see him again. Finally he settled on: ‘ _Boring day at work. Are you doing something interesting? Don’t forget to eat._ ’

The answer came only a few minutes later: ‘ _Tomorrow. Noon. Marble Arch. SH_ ’

John chuckled. Well, that did tell him what he wanted to know, but he'd hoped for a little more conversation, so he texted back: ' _What are we going to do?_ '

‘ _Look at places. SH_ ’

John blinked at his screen. It wasn't that he had been expecting a detailed description of what Sherlock wanted to do with him (though if the smile he had given him last night was any indication, that could have been quite interesting), but he hadn't expected this either.

' _Places?_ ' he sent.

‘ _Yes. SH_ ’

John smiled. Apparently Sherlock was busy, so he'd better eat his lunch and let the man surprise him tomorrow. It was almost embarrassing how much he was looking forward to seeing him again. Perhaps he could convince Mary to watch another film that evening…

 

Yet when Mary joined him for lunch, she reminded him that they had already made plans for that night. John had forgotten all about Bill’s birthday, and though he was sure it would be good to see his old mate again, he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed that they wouldn’t have time to watch Sherwood.

It must have shown on his face, because suddenly Mary giggled and reached over to ruffle his hair. "I'm sorry, John. But you can't sit and moon over your boyfriend all the time. We do have friends and obligations."

“I’m not _mooning_ ,” John protested. “I’d just made other plans… for us...”

"Us?" Mary asked, raising an eyebrow. "You mean you, me and... Sherwood?"

"Well... Yes..." John squirmed. "You seemed to like watching the ballet film together..."

"Oh, I did," Mary said, her smile turning wicked. "But we can't just do that every night. It would get dull."

John raised his eyebrows. "I really don't think it would."

"When we've watched everything he's made a dozen times? He's not _that_ good." Mary said, almost not laughing.

"He's made a lot of films," John pointed out.

"And not all of them are... brilliant," Mary countered, giving him a look.

"Fine... But still, it wouldn't get boring just yet," John insisted.

"We're not blowing off our friends to go home and watch porn," Mary said, lowering her voice. "But if you behave I'll let you google some pictures tonight when we get home."

John chuckled. "Fine, I'll behave. After all I get the real thing tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow?" Mary frowned. "What? You've got another date? Already?"

John bit his lip. Was it too much? Had he taken her words too literally? He was being rather insensitive, perhaps, showing so much enthusiasm about dating someone else... "I... I could postpone it if you wanted to do something together... Or you could come with us..."

"Don't be silly," she said, laughing. "It's just... He must be really smitten."

John couldn't help blushing. "Of course not," he muttered. "He just... wants to go somewhere."

"With you." Mary took his hand and squeezed it. "Because he likes you."

"Yeah, but he's not _smitten_ ," John said with a laugh.

Mary just smiled and shrugged.

 

…

 

Once they had arrived at the party, John had forgotten all about his other plans. By the time they got home it was rather late, and though he briefly considered claiming those pictures Mary had promised him, he was just too tired. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep.

Yet it was still early when he woke up. Feeling... excited. It was ridiculous, really. He wasn't exactly a teenager going on his first date. And yet he lay turning restlessly for a while before deciding to get up so he wouldn’t wake Mary.

He took a long shower and then prepared breakfast, but when it was ready, it was still hours before noon. Before he'd see Sherlock. Suppressing his frustration, he put everything on a tray and took it to the bedroom, hoping that Mary wouldn't mind being woken up early if it was for a good breakfast together.

Mary groaned and pulled John's pillow over her head. "What time is it?" she muttered.

"Time for breakfast! Good morning," John said, putting down the tray.

"Can't be... We only just got home..." Mary whined.

John chuckled. "It's not _that_ early."

"Feels like it..." Mary turned her back to him, groaning. "Or maybe my head's just imploding."

John sat down on the bed and petted her hair. "At least have some tea. For me."

With a dramatic sigh, Mary flung the pillow to the floor and sat up. "Fine," she grumbled. "Just... Turn down the light..."

"Turn it down?" John repeated, amused. "I'm not going to eat in _complete_ darkness..."

Mary glared at him, but reached for a cup.

John giggled. "How much did _you_ have to drink?"

 

…

 

John was almost dizzy from turning around so often, uncertain from which direction Sherlock would show up.

He had arrived early, but now it was five minutes past noon. Far too early to text and ask where Sherlock was - and yet he suddenly felt nervous about the fact he hadn't gotten any more messages. How could he be sure Sherlock hadn't forgotten? And if he had, would they still be able to see each other today?

He checked his phone again for the time; six past.

"It's exactly 45.3 seconds later than last time you checked."

John jumped and turned around, to where Sherlock stood towering over him. "God," he muttered, shaking his head as his heart was hammering in his chest.

"Not quite," Sherlock said, smiling.

John snorted. "Have you been watching me for a whole minute just so you could creep up on me?"

"I was watching you because it made me happy." Sherlock's smile wavered a bit.

John blinked and studied the taller man's face for a moment, but he didn't look like he was kidding. "Come here, you," he said, pulling Sherlock down by his neck and crashing their lips together.

Sherlock made a strange, strangled sound. Then he wrapped his arms around John, kissing him passionately.

John smiled against his lips and stroked his neck, taking his time to enjoy the kiss.

"Hello," he said when they finally pulled back.

"Hello," Sherlock said breathlessly, smiling again.

"It's, er, good to see you." John's eyes lingered on Sherlock's face.

"I know.” Sherlock let his fingers brush gently over John's cheek, then turned away abruptly. "We better get going," he said, as he began walking away from the park. "We're almost late for our first meeting."

"Meeting?" John had to do a little skip to catch up with him. "What are we doing?"

"I told you," Sherlock said, flagging down a cab. "Looking at places."

"We're going sightseeing?" John asked, frowning.

"In a sense," Sherlock said, getting into the cab, giving the driver an address in Islington.

"In what sense?" John asked, raising his eyebrows.

"We'll be looking at possible locations for my studio," Sherlock said, smiling and turning up his collar as the cab pulled into traffic.

"Oh." John stared at him for a moment. "That's... that's brilliant. But are you sure I'm the person you want to take along for that? I'm not in the business... Someone like Angelo could probably give you better advice..."

"Why would I need anyone in the business?" Sherlock asked, looking puzzled. " _I'm_ in the business."

John chuckled. "So why do you need me? I've seen some films, but I don't have a clue what makes a good studio."

"I do," Sherlock said. "Just leave that to me."

"Right," John said. "You're really taking the step then? After your project?"

"Definitely. I've talked to George and he's agreed. Once this film is released, my brand will be strong enough to carry a label. I've got the financing secured. The only thing left to do is find proper premises."

"That's great," John said, smiling. "If you can put all your time into your own films, the porn industry is going to know golden times."

Before answering, Sherlock put his hand on John's shoulder to steady him as the cab did an abrupt swerve.

"I am hoping to recruit and train new talent," Sherlock said, once he was sure the driver was, once again, focused sufficiently on the traffic. "I intend to spend more time behind the camera. While still keeping up the quality, of course."

"Oh." John understood Sherlock's choice, but felt a little disappointed there would be fewer films with him. "How exactly do you train people, though? I mean..."

"Much like you'd train other actors," Sherlock said. "Any fool off the street can grunt and shag. But knowing how to woo the camera, make the viewer invest in their character... That is the craft we will focus on." He chuckled. "I will challenge them to turn on their audience without nudity or physical contact between characters. Once they master that, I can work with them."

"Can _you_ still enjoy porn? I mean, without thinking of it as work?" John asked.

Sherlock considered this, smiling a little. "You know... I don't think I've ever enjoyed porn in the... conventional sense."

"Oh." John thought about this for a moment, wondering what it was like to only watch those films from a professional point of view. "But... There must be something you think of to... well... reach certain effects at the right time?"

"You mean how I become physically aroused when filming?" Sherlock's smile widened slightly. "I just do."

"Just from the... mechanics?" John asked.

"I tell my body what I need it to do," Sherlock explained. "Just like running, walking or dancing."

John smiled. "I suppose that that amount of control over your body does explain why you're such an amazing dancer..."

Sherlock's smile wilted. "Dancer?"

"Yes..." John hesitated. "Mary chose something to watch last Thursday. _Relevé_."

"Oh..." Sherlock frowned. "I did not realise it was still... available..."

John shrugged. "It was. And it was really good. Mary loved it."

"Of course," Sherlock said. "I... I take it you were... less enthused?"

"Oh, there were some amazing bits in that film," John said, smiling a little. "I guess James just doesn't do it for me, but watching you dance..."

"Be objective, John," Sherlock interrupted. "Would you have felt the same about the character if you had not met the man?"

"Oh, James was a lot more... pleasant, than when I met him," John said. "But still... He's not you." He blushed, but looked straight at Sherlock.

"He was a darling back then," Sherlock said. "Too bad it didn't stick."

John raised his eyebrows. "Did you two... I mean..."

"Did we what?" Sherlock asked, leaning over to look at the building they were approaching.

"You know..." John said, but apparently they had arrived, as Sherlock reached for some money to pay the cabbie. Once outside he started walking immediately, so John once again had to rush to keep up. He wondered what to make of Sherlock's reluctance to talk about this. Surely something _had_ happened between the two men, then. Did Sherlock regret that it had ended? Or had the break-up just been too bad to think about?

Yet before John could return to the subject, Sherlock started talking about the building they were about to enter, and why the natural light that fell in through the windows could sometimes be used for a more intriguing effect of the shadows.

“There are some smaller rooms for offices and editing,” he explained as they entered through the large double doors. “But this…” He made a sweeping gesture around the large empty space that ran the entire length of the building and over half its depth. “This will be for filming.” The ceiling was at least three storeys high, and above the door two rows of windows let in slanting beams of shimmering sunlight.

As Sherlock strode to the middle of the room, he began explaining how as many as four sets could be in use at once in just this room. “And there are two smaller ones above,” he said, gesturing towards a spiral staircase in the furthest corner. “I’m putting skylights in those,” he said. “If I’m taking the place.”

John smiled at his enthusiasm, but Sherlock’s eager grin vanished as he spun around to face the man who had just appeared from one of the many doors along the back wall of the large room.

“Sherlock Holmes,” the man said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, as he strode towards them, holding out his hand.

“Sebastian,” Sherlock said curtly, taking it.

“Howdy, buddy. How long’s it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?” the man said, clasping Sherlock’s hand between both of his, shaking it vigorously.

“Eleven,” Sherlock muttered as he pulled his hand back and gestured to John. “This is my friend, John Watson.”

“Friend?” Sebastian looked at John for the first time, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Yes,” John said, meeting his eye almost defiantly as they shook hands. He hadn’t expected Sherlock to know the person they were meeting, but there was something about him John really didn’t like. It was all too obvious that he was just playing a role.

“So…” Sebastian said, focusing back on Sherlock. “You said you needed the building for a… studio?”

Sherlock nodded.

“What kind of studio?” Sebastian looked around the vast room, as if expecting to see some kind of clue.

“You know what kind of studio,” Sherlock said, also looking away. “You’ve been following my career for the last… six years.”

Sebastian’s head whipped around and he stared at Sherlock. Then he laughed. “Right… You’re doing that thing…”

John raised his eyebrows, thinking that was an odd way to refer to Sherlock’s work, but then Sebastian directed himself to him.

“We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do.”

“It’s not a trick,” Sherlock muttered.

“He could look at you and tell you all your secrets. Your preferences. Who you'd been shagging.” Sebastian shook his head slowly. “We all hated him, of course.”

“I’ve seen him do it,” John said coldly, crossing his arms so he wouldn’t give in to the temptation to punch the posh prick. “And I think it’s an extraordinary talent. Must be, too, if it makes someone who hates him watch his films for, what was it again, six years?”

“Just…” Sebastian sputtered. “Just for a laugh… Because I knew him… It was funny…”

Sherlock made a strange little sound and as John looked over, he could have sworn he was fighting back a grin.

“A six year long laugh,” John commented.

Sebastian wasn’t looking quite as smug as he finally changed the subject to the reason they were here. He seemed rather in a hurry as he told Sherlock everything he needed to know about the building, but the actor kept coming up with questions, asking them almost lazily.

Finally Sebastian huffed. “You’ve obviously done your homework. You seem to know as much about this place as I do, so why don’t I just get out of your way? You can contact me when you are ready to sign the papers.”

“If,” Sherlock corrected him.

“Don’t we need to lock this place when we’re leaving?” John asked.

“Just close it,” Sebastian said, taking out his phone to check something. “It’ll lock automatically.” Without looking at them, he did a sort of wave and headed for the door.

As it closed behind him, Sherlock chuckled. “So… We are, in fact, locked in here right now…”

“Whatever will we do,” John said, grinning.

“Oh, the door opens from the inside,” Sherlock said, keeping a straight face for several seconds before grinning and reaching out to pull John close. “But… Only if we want it to…”

John giggled. “Are we really doing this?”

“Doing what?” Sherlock asked, and then bent down to kiss him.

 

…

 

When they left the building, Sherlock immediately hailing a cab, they were still rather giggly.

“Let’s hope the next meeting isn’t with another ghost from your past,” John said.

“Why?” Sherlock asked. “Ghosts are so much easier to dispel.”

“But who knows what state we’ll be in tonight if they leave us alone everywhere.” John grinned.

“I promise you’ll still be in one piece,” Sherlock said. “I do need to focus on finding the right building. But surely there’s no harm in a little fun in between.”

“I’m certainly not complaining. Where are we going now?”

“Greenwich,” Sherlock said, leaning back in the seat. “I don’t know much about this place. Only went on the market yesterday.”

“Well, can’t wait to see it,” John said. “How many places are we going to visit?”

“That depends… I’ve got five more lined up, but we’re only doing the last three if I haven’t decided on one of the others by then.”

John nodded. “As good as the one we’ve seen looked, I kind of hope the rest will be even better. Just so you don’t need to buy from Wilkes.”

“I’m not going to let the fact that the man is an intellectual midget prevent me from securing the best location,” Sherlock said, frowning slightly.

“Of course not,” John agreed. “I just don’t like the idea of that guy earning more money to strut around with.”

“Money’s all he’s got,” Sherlock said. “His colleagues avoid him, he’s never had a relationship that lasted more than six months and… his goldfish died last week.”

John snorted. “How on earth can you tell?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I’ve been at his office, talked to his secretary and stole his wallet.” Sherlock produced said wallet from his pocket and handed it to John. “He’s having it stuffed.”

“The _fish_?” John stared at him. “Do people even do that?”

“I don’t know about people,” Sherlock said. “But then again, I’m not sure Wilkes ever qualified as one.”

John was still laughing when the cab pulled up in front of what looked like an old, cheap and very neglected office building. He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure this is the right place? I don’t know much about how a studio is supposed to look, but...”

“Oh yes,” Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off the building as he got out of the cab. “Very sure.”

As they walked over to the boarded up door he leaned closer and whispered: “I don’t really think I can use this one, but when I heard about it, I was too curious to resist…”

John frowned, wondering what they were about to see.

Sherlock pounded twice on the door, then took a step back and looked up. A moment later, a young man stuck his head out one of the broken windows. “You have to come round back,” he called to them. The head was replaced by an arm, gesturing to the narrow side street to their left.

John looked up at Sherlock and shrugged, then turned to follow the man’s directions.

Several cardboard boxes lay strewn on the ground, having, it seemed, been pushed aside so that the smaller door could be opened. Sherlock tried the handle and the door opened with a loud, slightly ominous screech.

“I think you’re wasting your time on this one,” John whispered to Sherlock.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said, practically skipping as he hurried inside.

They were at the foot of a narrow stairwell, the only light coming from the door behind them and two small, dusty windows on the landing above them.

“Hello?” Sherlock called, looking up. “Mr Knight?”

“Not so loud,” John muttered. “Something will come down.”

“Mr Holmes?” The voice sounded from above. “I’m up here. Hang on. I’ll come down.”

Sherlock smiled at John, winked and then began ascending the stairs. “No,” he called. “That’s okay. We’re coming up. We’re here to see the building after all.”

Slightly confused and suspicious of the state of the stairs, John followed him upstairs.

On the second landing, an open door led to a long corridor, with doors on both sides. The young man, who wore a faint beard and had rather striking ears, was waiting for them at the end, wringing his hands nervously. “Mr… Mr Holmes,” he stammered. “You came… And…?” He looked at John, frowning.

“John Watson. I’m just tagging along,” John said, smiling and wondering why Mr Knight seemed to be so nervous. Perhaps he had lied in his description of this place to lure people in, and was afraid of their reactions. Yet Sherlock didn’t seem angry or disappointed in any way.

“I’m Henry Knight,” the man said, nodding at John.

Sherlock walked forward, holding out his hand to him. “Thank you for letting us come on such short notice,” he said. “I understand that this building used to belong to your father. Hubert Knight?”

“Hugo,” the young man corrected him, taking the offered hand. “Yes, he… He had his lab here. Did most of his later work right here…” He pointed at one of the doors. “Right… There…”

Sherlock gave his hand a single shake and then turned abruptly, heading for the indicated door.

“What kind of work did your father do?” John asked Henry.

“Oh, he did many things,” he answered, following Sherlock hesitantly. “Worked in chemistry and biotechnology. He converted this place into a lab after he sold a patent to NASA.”

John blinked and looked around at the yellowed wallpaper, which had come loose in places. “Are you… rich?”

Henry nodded and smiled a little, stopping in the door to watch Sherlock as he darted around the room, examining everything. “Yeah… He left me a lot of money as well as several minor patents…” He glanced at John. “Do you… Do you mind if I smoke?”

John shrugged. “This is your place, so go ahead, I guess.”

While Henry fumbled for a cigarette, Sherlock suddenly disappeared down behind one of the long metal tables, emerging a moment later with a dusty yellow binder. Bringing it over to the window, he began flicking through the papers, which were stiff and stained with age.

John thought he saw a mischievous twinkle in Sherlock’s eyes and for some reason suspected he'd better keep Henry Knight talking. "I can't help but think this house has been vacant for a while," he said. "Is there a reason why you are selling it now?"

Henry coughed nervously, then, without answering, lit his cigarette. Only after several deep drags did he speak: "My father had an... accident." Another deep drag. "Here..."

John frowned. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to be insensitive."

Henry shrugged. "It was almost 20 years ago. It shouldn't bother me anymore, except... They never really told me how it happened."

"Of course it still bothers you," John said. "It's your father. And not knowing how, after all that time... That's horrible."

"Frankland," Sherlock said, still looking at the old papers.

Henry Knight gasped, almost choking on the smoke. Once he was finished coughing, he gasped: "Excuse me?"

"He was working with Robert Frankland," Sherlock said. "He was making some rather unusual contributions to your father’s work. Published several articles on the subject years later. Never mentioned Harold Knight, though..."

"Hugo..." Henry muttered, but Sherlock went on:

"Dr Knight was working alone that night, comparing some samples that Frankland had lent him. He must have gotten distracted or tired. Tried heating up the wrong vial and it exploded." Sherlock looked around to the mess near the corner of the room, where the faded paint on the walls seemed scorched in places. "The blast blinded as well as shocked him. He must have been flailing... Knocked over the Bunsen burner and set fire to his coat. He was dead before the smoke detectors went off." He gestured vaguely to the old devices mounted on the ceiling, then went back to reading.

Henry was gaping at Sherlock, his cigarette forgotten in his hand.

Gently, John put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked. "That was probably... a lot to take in..." He glanced at Sherlock. "How do you know?"

"It's obvious," Sherlock said. "I'm sure the report back then could have told you the same. If Frankland's lawyer hadn't had it sealed."

Henry's mouth moved as if speaking, but no sound came out.

"Maybe you should sit down for a moment," John said, leading Henry to a rather wobbly looking stool.

"Yes..." Henry said, sinking down.

A moment later Sherlock came over. "I'm sorry," he said, not looking sorry at all. "The price is good, but Gareth would never let me buy this place. We won't be taking up more of your time." He held out his hand to Henry, who just stared at it. Sherlock shrugged and turned to John. "Shall we?"

"Sherlock, you _have_ to explain where you got all that information. You owe Henry at least that," John said, shaking his head.

Sherlock sighed. "I just looked around," he said. "Combined with what I know about the work the two men were doing at the time, it was easy to put together. Frankland just didn't want the story getting out back then. He thought he could finish Knight's work on his own. Take the credit. Only... He never managed it." Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around himself and gave John an impatient look. "We're running late for our next appointment," he said.

John frowned and turned back to Henry. "Will you be okay?"

The young man nodded, staring across the room at the scorched bit of wall. “Yeah…” he  muttered. “Fine… Have a nice day…”

Before he had finished, Sherlock was already out the door, hurrying towards the stairs.

John hesitated. “I could bring you home,” he told Henry. “I’m sure Sherlock can handle his appointments on his own…”

“It’s fine,” he said, waving his hand feebly. “I need a moment. Just go…” He looked up at John and then added: “Thanks.”

 

…

 

“What was that all about?” John asked as he joined Sherlock in the waiting cab.

“Huh?” Sherlock said, looking up from the old papers he was scrutinising.

“With Henry,” John clarified, raising his eyebrows. So Sherlock _had_ taken something from that binder. “Did you just go in to rob and traumatise the poor man?”

“You heard him,” Sherlock said as the cab pulled away from the curb. “He wanted to know what had happened. He needed… closure…” He looked down again, turning one of the papers over.

“And you thought you’d just take those in return?” John asked, gesturing at the papers. “Bit not good, Sherlock.”

“What?” Sherlock looked up at him again. “He won't miss these. Everything will be disposed of anyway, once he manages to sell the building. Most likely, it will be demolished. There’s nothing worth saving. Except these.”

“You could have asked him if it was okay,” John said. “What are they about, anyway?”

“The project Knight and Frankland were working on,” Sherlock said. “They were on the brink of developing this new polymer. For medical equipment.”

John frowned. “Why did you take it? If Henry sells it, the development can be continued…”

“They’d never make it work,” Sherlock said, leaning back and smiling smugly. “But I can…”

“Really? People who study these things for a living can’t do it, but the great Sherlock Holmes will solve all their problems?” John rolled his eyes.

“I’ll do no such thing,” Sherlock said. “I need this for the new filters I’m working on.”

“Filters?”

“For the lights,” Sherlock stated as if this explained everything.

“Right,” John said. “Was that why you came here? You suspected you’d find something like this?”

“I was hoping it hadn’t been destroyed in the accident.”

“How do you even know they exist if they’ve been hidden in there for twenty years?”

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said, his smile stiffening a little.

“Your… craft?” John repeated.

“ _My-croft_ ,” Sherlock said, articulating carefully. “My brother. Back when I was leaving school to embark on my career, he made one last desperate attempt at luring me back to the world of academia. He introduced me to Robert Frankland, hoping that I could help the man fill in the blanks left by Dr. Knight’s untimely death.”

John blinked. “Your brother’s called Mycroft? What was wrong with your parents?” he asked.

Sherlock snorted. “A lot.”

“Right.” John frowned a little. “So you actually met Frankland.”

Sherlock nodded. “Briefly.”

“And yet you found out what had happened to Hugo Knight?”

“I found out today what happened to… Hugo Knight,” Sherlock said. “Why is that so important?”

“Why is it important that you told someone how his father died after he’s been wondering for twenty years, needing it to come to terms with things?” John asked incredulously.

“It happened two decades ago, John,” Sherlock said, studying him. “It was an accident. It’s not like I solved the murder of the century or something like that.”

“It still means a great deal to Henry,” John pointed out. “No one else has been able to give him this. But you act like it was a necessary evil to get to those papers.”

“Oh…” Sherlock stared at John, forgetting to close his mouth. “I thought you… didn’t approve of me… telling him…”

“I do,” John said. “But leaving him right after that without a word of explanation, with his dead father’s notes in your pocket… Not so much.” He wondered if Sherlock really didn’t get it.

“I had to tell him,” Sherlock said. “To distract him while I secured the right papers. There was no sense in hanging around afterwards. I doubt I could have said anything that would not have made matters worse.”

John shook his head. “You’re incredible. And I’m not sure that’s a good thing, in this case. It does feel a bit wrong to be using Knight’s invention for porn rather than the medical purposes it was developed for.”

“It was never actually developed,” Sherlock said. “But while Frankland was getting me a coffee, I got a look at his files and later based the material I used to make those tubes I showed you on their ideas. But it’s too flexible for filters. And for the uses they had intended. So I needed Knight’s notes.” He held up the papers. “The thing is… If they had actually made it, they would have learned that the material reacts to heat in a way that makes it unsuited for medical use, but perfect in…” He grinned at John.

“Filters,” John muttered. “So that’s why you think you could make more out of the notes than anyone else. You’ve done it before.”

Sherlock nodded, smiling again.

“So do you actually consider buying the next place we’re looking at, or are you just out to steal something else?” John smiled a little.

“I’ll let you know,” Sherlock said with a cheeky grin.

 

…

 

“I’m beginning to think you’re a kleptomaniac,” John said when Sherlock produced an ashtray from under his coat as they got into a cab after their next visit. The place had been richly decorated and as he and Sherlock had been waiting for its current owner on a lush red sofa, John had been thinking it was clear enough why this place was on Sherlock’s list, although it was almost _too_ obviously made for porn settings.

“They won’t miss it,” Sherlock said. “Like most things in that house, it may look expensive but it’s just a cheap copy.”

“Not taking that one, then?” John concluded.

“The house itself is lovely,” he said. “But I’d have to replace the wiring before it could ever be used for sets. And the plumbing would have to be fixed within a year or two. It’s not worth it.”

“I guess that makes the choice easier.” John smiled. “Shame about that sofa…”

"You liked it?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

John chuckled. "I guess I found it... inspiring..."

"I suppose I could buy it," Sherlock mused, leaning a little closer.

John smirked and turned his head towards him. "Maybe you should... Think how beautiful someone with pale skin and dark hair would look on all that red..."

"I see your point," Sherlock said, tilting his head a little. "What would you do? If you had someone like that on a sofa like that?"

John licked his lips. "How badly do you want to find out?"

"If you don't want to tell me," Sherlock said with a small shrug, "you could show me?"

 

...

 

"Well, that was new," John said, unable to hide a grin where he stood on the pavement, watching the car drive away. "I'd never been thrown out of a cab before."

"I'm guessing you've never straddled a man in the back seat of a cab before either," Sherlock said, leaning down to kiss John's neck.

"No... Can't say I have. I'd do it again, though..." John chuckled and pulled Sherlock down for a proper kiss.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, returning the kiss with such passion that a young couple actually stopped to stare for a moment before quickly crossing to the other sidewalk.

John giggled even more as he let go of Sherlock. "Maybe we shouldn't be standing here in the middle of the street."

Sherlock looked around, then took John's hand. "This way," he said, pulling him along. "If we cross through the park, we can catch a bus and still be almost on time."

"Almost." John laughed and let himself be dragged along.

Sherlock chuckled and, as they passed through the iron gate of the park, let go of John's hand, putting an arm around his shoulders instead. "Do you have any more delays planned?" he asked.

"Depends," John said. "Are you planning to be extremely irresistible again?"

"It's not like I can turn it off and on..."

"So there _is_ something you can't turn on?" John asked in mock surprise.

Sherlock didn't reply, but sped up. Then suddenly he grabbed John with both hands, spun him around and pushed him up against the trunk of a large, wide oak. Bending over him, he growled. "I don't know, John... Can I turn _you_ on?"

John huffed out a breathless laugh that hopefully didn't sound like a moan. "What kind of attack was that?"

"Attack?" Sherlock purred, bending even further down, his lips barely an inch from John's. "Are you implying I should stop?"

"Most... most definitely not," John managed to say, before he pulled Sherlock even closer.

"Good..." Sherlock whispered, his lips almost touching John's. "Because I really don't want to stop..."

John reached up to cup Sherlock's face and finally kissed him again, pressing into Sherlock's leg between his own.

This time it was Sherlock's turn to moan and he pushed in against John, pinning him against the tree as the kiss deepened.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, John was vaguely aware of the fact that they were outside, in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, when families with children might walk by, and that they should probably stop this before it got out of hand. But he didn't want to lose Sherlock's mouth on his, and his hands were lowering of their own account, sneaking into the coat to pull Sherlock's shirt loose from his trousers.

Sherlock shifted to give John more room to work and, in the same movement, managed to pull his coat further around them. "John..." he moaned into the kiss, his long fingers brushing over the front of John's jeans.

John whimpered. "We... shouldn't... Oh..."

Sherlock pressed softly with his palm, then seemed to hesitate. "John..." he muttered, pulling out of the kiss. "You're vibrating..."

"Stronger men would be trembling if you did that to them," John breathed, before catching Sherlock's bottom lip again.

"No, John," Sherlock said, a note of mirth in his voice. "You're _vibrating..._ " He moved his hand over and fished John's phone out of his pocket, holding it up in front of him, so he could see Mary's name flashing on the screen.

"Oh." John stared at the phone for a long moment before he took it. "Hello, Mary?"

There was a long pause. Then Mary sniffed. "I'm sorry, John," she whispered. "I thought this would work but... I can't..."

"Mary? What's wrong?" John frowned, his thoughts of continuing what he and Sherlock had been doing all gone. Mary really sounded upset about something.

"Come home, John," Mary sobbed. "Please..."

"I'm on my way," John said. "Just need to find a cab and then I'm there. Don't worry."

Mary did not answer.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock assured John he’d be fine making the remaining visits to potential studios on his own, so it was a matter of minutes before John sat in a cab, worrying about Mary. She hadn’t explained anything on the phone and he kept coming up with possible reasons for her call, some very improbable and others simply frightening. When the driver finally stopped at their door, John thrust some money at him and then rushed into the house.

Mary was sitting at the kitchen table, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"God, Mary, what's wrong?" John moved over and enveloped her in a hug.

"Oh John..." She turned in his arms, clinging to him. "I'm sorry. I'm such a fool. I... I didn't think..."

John kissed her hair. "You're not a fool. But you're going to have to tell me what this is about," he said softly, holding her close.

"You..." she gasped. "Sherlock... I... It's not going to..." She sobbed again. "I thought it would be... easy..."

John pulled back a little and stared down at her. "You... You changed your mind?" he asked. "I mean... It's fine if you have, of course. I understand. It's okay." In fact he felt like he wasn't getting any air, but he had done this to her. Things couldn't go on between him and Sherlock if this was the result.

Mary sobbed again, trembling. She shook her head. "Not changed... No..." She pulled back to look at him. "I just hadn't realised..." She took a deep breath. "He was just so..." She let out a frustrated groan. "He made me so... so angry..."

John frowned. "Who did? Sherlock?"

"David," she huffed. "Oh John... You would have punched him... Showing up all frowns and pity. Saying how much he hated telling me but I deserved to know and he wanted me to know that he was there for me and..."

She twitched as if in disgust.

"What was he talking about?" John asked, thinking that perhaps he _should_ punch the guy at some point if he kept freaking Mary out like that.

"You," she said, tears welling up in her eyes again. "What a bastard you were. How you didn't deserve me... John... He saw you. With Sherlock..."

"Oh, god," John said, biting his lip.

She nodded. "Apparently you were... 'very happy to see each other'."

John cleared his throat. "Right..." He supposed he could only be grateful that David must have seen them at the start of the afternoon. But who knew who might have been at the park... And of course Mary's friends would be shocked at what they saw. He really should have been more careful. "I'm so sorry..."

Mary shook her head. "Don’t be sorry," she said. "Neither of us thought it would be a problem, right? That this involved other people than the two... the three of us...." She huffed. "That nosy git. He seemed almost happy about it. Though he was trying not to show it, of course."

"He probably thought it means he'd get another chance," John said, rolling his eyes. "What did you tell him?"

"That he must be mistaken." Mary let out a little half-laugh. "But I promised that I would talk to you. And then after he had left, I just... I just started thinking about how it would be if all my friends knew. If they thought you were cheating on me. They'd hate you. And pity me..." Her voice broke and she had to take a deep breath before continuing. "I couldn't bear that, John. I know it's silly to care what they think but... I don't want them to think that we're like... like that..."

John hugged her again. “I understand,” he said. “You know I don’t want our… situation… to make you uncomfortable in any way.” But what would it mean? He was afraid to ask her. Surely she wouldn’t stop him and Sherlock seeing each other altogether. They could still be friends. But after today… Would they manage to keep their hands off each other for long if they met regularly?

"I know," she said, leaning on him. "You never meant any harm. You were just happy." Then she giggled. "It's a good thing David is as straight as a rod. If he had known who Sherlock actually is, he'd have made an even bigger fuss."

"Yeah." John frowned a little. "So... How are we dealing with this?"

Mary sighed. "I don't know... Do you think Sherlock would be upset if... if you asked him to be... discreet?"

"Are... are you sure that's all? I mean... David's seen us together now. From now on we don't need to... _do_ anything. People will be talking anyway if they see us together "

"David has promised not to tell anyone..." Mary frowned. "There's no harm in people thinking you are friends, right?"

"Of course not, but do you trust him? David?" John asked.

"I think so..." Mary hesitated. "I made it pretty clear that he would lose me as a friend if he gossiped about us."

For a moment John was quiet, thinking as he sat down on the chair next to Mary's and took her hand. "I may not like him, but he's still your friend," he said finally. "You've said before that we can't neglect our friends for... this... And you were right. I don't want to be the reason that you need to keep secrets from the people you care about."

"After the way he behaved today," Mary huffed, "I'm not sure I care about him all that much. At least not right now..." She looked down at their joined hands. "I think... for now... we need to keep a few secrets. I don't want you to stop what you've started with Sherlock... I wouldn't do that to either of you. But I'm also not ready to let the whole world know about our arrangement. So... Can you do that? Sneak around with Sherlock? For me?"

"Of course," John said, leaning in to give her a soft kiss. It was almost as though she believed she was asking a lot of him. While this one wish of hers was the least he could do. "I'll tell him as soon as he's available again. He's probably still at his meeting..."

 

…

 

They had moved to snuggle on the sofa when John received a text from Sherlock.

‘ _I'm buying the first building we saw. Gil approves. SH_ ’

John smiled for a moment. The building _had_ seemed perfect, and Sherlock had so many great ideas for it. Then he typed out his answer: ' _Can I call you?_ '

‘ _Of course. SH_ ’

John sat up and took Mary's hand as he pushed Sherlock's name.

"You do not approve?" Sherlock asked at once.

"I... what?"John asked. "Oh. The studio. No, it's great. Congratulations."

"Thank you. I'm sure Sebastian will be pleased." Sherlock's voice took on a wry tone as he spoke the name. Then he chuckled. "I've bought the sofa too. I'm going to put it in my office, I think. For inspiration."

John smiled again. "I can only approve of that, too."

"I thought you would."

Mary gave John's hand a little squeeze and cleared her throat softly.

John nodded and stroked her hand with his thumb. "I actually called to... ask you something," he said.

"Oh?" Sherlock was silent for a moment. "What?"

"Well... Mary called earlier because someone had seen us."

"Shit... I never thought... I'm sorry, John..." Sherlock stammered, his words tripping over each other. He paused and took a deep breath. "Is it bad?"

"She's just asked us if we can be a bit more discreet..." John said.

"Right... Of course." Sherlock's chuckle sounded a bit forced. "So no kissing, hugging or holding hands in public."

John frowned a little. "Is that... okay?"

"Of course it's okay, John. I would never do anything that would hurt Mary and you." Sherlock paused for a moment. "Let's talk later. I have just set up to try some variations on the formulae I... found..."

"Of course..." Sherlock sounded a bit off, but perhaps he was indeed distracted by Knight's papers. "Thank you," John said.

"Give my best to Mary," Sherlock said and then hung up.

John looked at Mary. "I'm not quite sure how he feels about it."

"He's probably not thrilled," Mary said, sighing. "We're not exactly doing him any favours here."

"No, but... It doesn't really change anything between us, does it? Just keeping it behind closed doors?"

"I suppose it's less romantic," she said. "I know he's in porn and all, but from what you've told me, what you two’ve got going is a proper romance. Falling into each other's arms... Stopping every few steps to snog..." Mary sighed and bit her lip, looking slightly miserable. "Poor bloke. I doubt he's had much of that in his life and now I am ruining it for him..."

"If anyone is ruining anything, it's David," John said sternly. "You’re actually the one who’s made this possible. If it wasn’t for you, we’d have nothing. So you’re definitely not ruining anything."

"Sure feels like it," Mary muttered.

John put his arm around her and pulled her close. “I’m sure we can still be… romantic… in private. It might even be better for his business if he’s not seen with me too often.”

“He’s not exactly a celebrity, John.” Mary laughed a little. “I don’t think any paparazzi are chasing him.”

John rolled his eyes. “I’m not a celebrity either, but still, one kiss was enough for someone to spot us.”

"You were unlucky," she said. "I'm sorry David is such a nosy bastard..." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Tell Sherlock that I'm sorry. I really don't want to ruin anything for you guys. But... I don't see any other option. For now..."

He gently rubbed his cheek against her hair. "I will. And I don't want you to feel guilty. We do need some rules in this and I think you're the only one with the right to set them."

"You are an amazing man, John Watson," she said and turned her head to smile up at him. "No wonder we love you..."

John blushed. It really didn't feel fair that she was calling _him_ amazing, but he couldn't think of a better way to express that than kissing her.

 

...

 

In the next couple of days, John sent Sherlock a few texts, but as the answers kept getting shorter, he became more and more worried. Finally he made another call while walking to the car after work, but Sherlock didn't pick up.

"Do you think I should go see him?" he asked Mary, frowning as he sat down in the passenger seat.

"Give him some time," she said. "He'll reach out to you when she's ready."

"Probably..." John sighed.

Mary reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. "It'll be alright," she said. Then she laughed. "Want some distraction?"

“Distraction?” John raised his eyebrows. “What do you have in mind?”

“A movie…?” she said, shooting him a quick glance. “Maybe your friend can get us another one of those old ones. With Moriarty.”

John pulled a face. “Can’t we do one without him?”

“I guess we could,” Mary said, pouting a little. “It’s just… He’s so cute…”

“Fine…” John gave in, smiling. It _had_ had its benefits to him too that Mary liked to see Jim and Sherwood together. “As long as it’s got Sherlock, I guess it’s okay.”

“Awesome…” Mary giggled. “Should I drop you off at the store? Or do you have his number?”

“Just drop me off. Or you could just go into the store yourself…” John teased.

“Right…” Mary nodded emphatically. “I’ll just go in and ask the first guy I meet if he has some pirated gay porn lying around…”

John snorted. “It doesn’t have to be pirated… Though you _are_ giving me ideas now. Wonder if Sherlock’s ever dressed up as a pirate.”

“I’ll buy him the hat.” Mary snorted. “Unless you want him to be your cabin boy… Captain Watson.”

John grinned. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the demotion.”

 

…

 

John felt a little awkward asking Mike for another favour right after he had given back the USB with _Relevé_ , but his old friend didn’t seem to mind. After thinking for a moment about John’s request, he disappeared to dig up another stick from his locker in the back, and returned telling John that this had been Sherlock and Jim’s first film together. John thanked him and picked a random film from the nearest shelf, which he probably wouldn’t be watching, just so it wouldn’t seem like Mike was dealing out free movies all the time. They also agreed to go to the pub the next evening. By the time John got into the car again, Mary was looking a little bored.

“Sorry,” John said. “Just made another date.”

"Oh?" she raised an eyebrow. "You heard from Sherlock?"

"No, with Mike." John smiled. "Not a date-date..."

"What did you get?" she asked, glancing at the dvd in his hand.

"Oh, this is nothing," John said. "But Mike got me another stick. It's Sherlock and Jim's first film together. _Mind the Gap_."

"Oh wow... That's amazing." Mary started the car and pulled into traffic. "Can we watch it when we get home or do you want dinner first?"

"Let's have dinner first," John said, grinning. "Otherwise we'll get distracted and starve..."

Mary pouted again. "Okay. But you're cooking."

"Fine," John said. "As long as you don't immediately jump me because you have a hot guy in your kitchen." He chuckled, remembering the first time he had decided to make Mary dinner at her place.

"And delaying watching two young, even hotter guys getting it on? Not a chance..."

"Oi!" John huffed. "I'm not _that_ old..."

"You're not that young either," Mary teased.

"To be honest, I hope they don't look _too_ young," John said.

Mary reached over to give his shoulder a squeeze. "If it gets too weird for you, we don't have to watch it."

John smiled. "I'm definitely giving it a chance. We can always put it off..."

 

…

 

“That was delicious,” Mary said, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s leave the dishes for tomorrow.”

John laughed. “You _are_ eager to watch…”

“Aren’t you?” she asked, getting to her feet. “A bit?”

John acted like he had to think hard. “Maybe a little…”

“You don’t have to watch with me,” Mary said, setting up the laptop. “It’s okay if you just want to go to bed.”

“And leave you alone with those two guys?”

“I leave you alone with one of them on a regular basis so…” Mary bit her lip, then began to laugh.

“Well, I guess it’s only fair then.” John smiled. “I’ll just go…”

“Bye bye…” Mary did a little sort of wave and then focused on the screen.

John pouted. “You were supposed to stop me because you value my company too much to let me leave.”

“I do value your company,” Mary said. “But I’ve got two very gorgeous boys waiting for me. You are welcome to join us if you want, but don’t expect me to keep them waiting any longer.”

“Fine…” John sat down next to her, but then hesitated. “Maybe we should get rid of our clothes right away this time?”

Mary considered this, but then shook her head. “Nah… Struggling to get them out of the way can be half the fun sometimes.”

“Okay.” John leaned back against her, but then straightened again. “Do you want a drink? So we don’t need to get up for it?”

She groaned. “Can we just watch the film, John? Or do you need a couple of weeks to prepare?”

“I just want us to be comfortable…” John muttered, crossing his arms.

“And I just want to get horny, so… please…?” She gestured at the screen.

John nodded, blushing a little, and then pressed play. As he sat back, he took a deep breath, telling himself to relax.

 

The opening shot showed a very young Jim. For a moment John wondered if he was much younger than Sherlock, though he had looked like he could be around the same age when they met by the swimming pool. This film couldn’t be more than ten years old, and yet Jim looked like he was nineteen at most.

He was leaving a large building, surrounded by other young people carrying books and bags. He smiled and nodded at some of them, exchanged a few words and then headed down into a small, old underground station.

On the train, he got out a worn textbook and began reading. People moved around him, but he was completely focused on his book. Then something seemed to catch his attention. He shifted a little and then looked up. Right into the eyes of Sherwood, younger than John had seen him in any other film, but, thankfully, not as young as Jim.

He was standing a little further down the carriage, his arms crossed, leaning against the wall, next to one of the doors. He was wearing a torn denim jacket, black t-shirt and faded jeans. His hair was messy, but his curls had been straightened into greasy spikes, sticking in all directions. He had a wide leather bracelet around his right wrist and a single ring in his left ear.

Mary snorted. “God… I used to watch that show…”

“What show?” John asked, studying Sherlock incredulously. He wondered if he’d put all that on voluntarily or if they’d had to pay him extra.

“Sherlock _is_ gorgeous, but he’s no Johnny Depp,” Mary said, still giggling.

“He looks a lot better if you ask me…”

“I’m not asking you…” Mary leaned on him. “Watch the film.”

“Ma’am,” John said with a serious nod.

 

Sherwood was watching Jim intently and didn’t seem to mind that Jim had noticed. Then he smiled and winked. Jim, blushing, gasped and looked away. The train stopped, people shifted and when Jim looked up again, Sherwood was gone.

Jim’s expression was an odd mix of relief and regret.

Then the scene changed. Jim, wearing different clothes, reading a different book, sitting in a different seat. He looked up and there was Sherwood. This time, Jim smiled first. A shy little smile that made Mary go “Awhhhhh”. John chuckled.

Sherwood smiled too and nodded. They kept the eye contact until Jim had to get off the train. Standing on the platform, he saw Sherwood still watching him as the doors closed and the train pulled away.

Then Jim was on another train. This one so full of people that he could not get a seat. But he managed to find a corner where he could keep his balance while reading one of his books. The train stopped and more people poured on. Jim was buffeted a little and ended up pressed even further into the corner. He didn’t realise who was behind him before he felt a hand on his hip.

Visibly fighting the urge to turn around, he kept his eyes focused on his book as the camera moved down to show the hand with the long slender fingers, slowly sliding up, pushing Jim’s t-shirt out of the way. When it touched the bare skin of Jim’s stomach, he gasped and twitched but did not protest. Another hand moved in from the other side and together they worked their way up under Jim’s shirt. The thin fabric clearly showed how they reached Jim’s nipples, pinching them.

Jim trembled and seemed to lean back a little against the black leather behind him.

“Have you noticed,” Mary whispered, “that they haven’t shown his face? It could be anybody feeling Jim up. It’s quite… quite thrilling…” She squirmed a little, settling more comfortably against John.

John smiled and stroked her arm, thinking he’d know those fingers anywhere. “Kind of creepy too, though. If this wasn’t a porn, I mean.”

One of the hands was moving down now and as it reached Jim’s jeans, it became clear that he was very much affected by the situation. The fingers brushed lightly over the fabric. Just teasing. Jim flinched back, with the result that he ended up flush against the taller body behind him.

He tensed and then, very hesitantly, moved his own hand down. Stepping forward he reached behind him and placed his palm over the bulge that must have been pressed against his arse.

Jim closed his eyes, whimpering softly with excitement. Then the train slowed down. Stopped. People were moving again and, opening his eyes, Jim spun around. There was no one behind him.

The next scene showed Jim riding an almost empty train. He seemed tired and for once he was not reading. Someone sat down beside him and it took Jim far too long to realise who. When he did, his eyes widened and he looked around frantically, almost as if searching for a way to escape.

Sherwood just smiled, watching him. As the train slowed down, Jim picked up his bag, but before he could stand up, Sherwood had gripped his wrist. Jim swallowed hard, but did not resist. He leaned back in his seat, watching a few people leave the train and even fewer getting on.

As the train began moving again, Sherwood relaxed his grip but didn’t let go entirely. Instead his long fingers began sliding over the back of Jim’s hand, making him shiver. John followed their movements, his anticipation starting to build.

At the next stop, everyone left but them. Sherwood glanced up and the camera zoomed in on the chart over the door, showing the names of the stations. “4.5 minutes,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. “Time enough for a proper kiss, don’t you think?”

Jim looked like a wild animal, caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. But he did not protest as Sherwood took hold of his chin and turned his head, nor when the taller man leaned in and kissed him. It was soft at first. Unbearably slow and chaste. But then Jim made one of his characteristic whines and grabbed hold of Sherwood’s collar, pulling him closer. The kiss had gotten very heated by the time the train slowed down and they pulled apart. Both were panting slightly as they waited for the doors to open. But no other passengers appeared and soon the train was moving again.

Sherwood glanced up. “2.8,” he said. “Better not waste any time.” With an elegant movement, he slid out of his seat, swinging around so that he was kneeling between Jim’s legs. They kissed again, this time letting their hands explore each other’s upper body, finding their way under shirts and jackets.

Soon the train slowed, though, and Sherwood was back in his seat. A young couple got on and Jim and Sherwood were reduced to heated, very suggestive glances as the train moved on.

“You can just tell how that girl is thinking they should get a room,” Mary whispered, giggling.

As soon as they were alone again, Sherwood pulled Jim into his lap. "6.2" he gasped before their lips crashed together.

Sherwood was not content with just kissing, though, and soon he was pulling Jim's t-shirt up so that he could get at the button of his jeans. He flicked it open and slowly pulled the zipper down. As he reached inside, Jim gasped and then moaned.

Soon Sherwood had freed his cock and was stroking it with a firm grip, still kissing Jim hungrily.

The shorter man seemed on the verge of climax when the train began to slow down. Sherwood pushed him away and Jim whimpered as he tucked himself back in, pulling the t-shirt down to cover the open zipper.

No one entered the train and the doors were barely closed before Sherwood bent down, pulled the clothes away and took Jim's cock in his mouth.

Mary gasped. "Where did that condom come from? Did they cut or... Did he have it in... in his mouth?"

"Should we rewind?" John asked, rather intrigued by the idea.

Mary considered but then shook her head. "Later," she hissed. "They're finally getting to the good stuff."

Sherwood bobbed his head slowly, pulling back to lick and nip in between. But gradually he got more insistent and soon Jim was a moaning mess.

Just as the train began to slow, he came with a loud cry.

By the time a tired looking man sat down across from them, Sherwood was leaned back, looking slightly bored (though a bit more tousled than before) while Jim, hastily covered up, was blushing and fidgeting.

As the man left, Sherwood got to his feet. Standing in front of Jim, he grinned wickedly, undoing his jeans. "Do you think you can make me come in 5.7?" he asked.

Jim whimpered at the sight of Sherwood's erection. "I... I can try..." he gasped.

John too was affected by the sight of Sherwood’s fingers slowly rolling a condom over his length, and the teasing looks the man threw Jim as he clearly took his time on purpose. Unlike Jim, John didn’t mind at all.

As Sherwood fucked Jim’s mouth, the younger man appeared to be doing his best to use tongue and lips to enhance the pleasure. But Sherwood seemed almost unaffected.

"You've got two minutes left," he said. "If you don't finish me before the next stop, I'm going to fuck you."

Whether Jim's moan was of fear or anticipation, or both, was hard to tell, but when the train stopped, Sherwood was still hard as a rock. He didn't sit down, only barely covering himself up, and as the doors closed, he pulled Jim to his feet.

After a fierce but quick kiss, Sherwood spun Jim around and pulled his jeans and pants down roughly. "Kneel on the seat," he hissed in his ear, and Jim scrambled to obey.

Sherwood took a moment to enjoy the view, then put both hands on Jim's hips, making him whimper. Sherwood chuckled darkly and bent down to kiss Jim's neck and whisper. "Don't worry. You are going to love it." He raised his hand to his mouth and sucked on three of his long fingers. "6.1," he whispered in Jim's ear as he reached down and began massaging his hole gently. "Not enough for what I want to do to you, but the odds of anyone getting on the train at this time are slim. I'd say we have a 21% risk of being interrupted." He pushed a fingertip in and Jim groaned. "Do you want to risk it? Or should I stop now?"

"Don't!" Jim cried. "Don't stop."

Sherwood chuckled again, sliding his finger in slowly.

As he gently worked Jim open, he continued kissing his neck and ear, between teasing whispers about how tight he was and how good it was going to feel.

"Fuck..." Mary moaned. "He could talk the pants off the pope..." She was shifting and squirming again, apparently unable to sit still.

John chuckled. “Beginning to regret that we’re still dressed?”

"Shut up..." Mary huffed, giggling as she began unbuttoning her top.

Grinning, John opened one button of his shirt and then pulled it over his head. “Should we pause it?”

Mary shook her head, her eyes back on the screen as she slipped off her top. Then she began undoing her trousers, squirming to get them off without getting up.

“Want some help?” John kept switching between watching her and the screen.

“Yeah,” Mary said, lifting herself up. “Thanks.”

John pulled her trousers out of the way, undid his own and then sat closer again.

Leaning on him, Mary began running her hand gently over his chest, brushing over his nipples. “I know you’re not fond of it but… They look good together,” she said.

John hummed, his body following her hand so as not to lose her touch. “I don’t mind so much in this one. Jim looks so young that it’s like he’s not the same person I’ve met.”

“And Sherlock?” she asked, pinching his nipple softly.

John let out a soft grunt as he thought about his answer. “He looks funny, but that makes it seem more like he’s simply dressing up as someone who’s younger. And well, he’s in character.” He frowned a little. “I wouldn’t like seeing _Sherlock_ with Jim.”

“Of course not,” she said. “And that’s not likely to happen anyway, right? From what I hear they can’t stand each other.”

John shrugged. “Train’s slowing down,” he pointed out. “I wonder if anyone’s going to catch them.”

Jim tensed visibly, but Sherwood kept thrusting the two fingers inside him and as soon as Jim was sure they weren't getting any company, he closed his eyes and moaned deeply.

"4.2," Sherwood whispered. "15% risk."

"Keep going..." Jim gasped, clutching at the back of the seat. "It feels so... good..."

Sherwood smirked and added a third finger. The teasing continued as Sherwood wrapped his free hand around his own cock and began stroking slowly. Now he was telling Jim how he'd soon have that cock inside him. How he would be filled as much as he could take and then fucked senseless.

John cleared his throat. “It’s, uhm. Kind of a thrilling idea, actually.” He shifted, wondering when Mary had stopped stroking his chest.

“Uhu…” Mary muttered, moaning a little.

John looked down at where her hand had gone. “Oh…” he said. “Don’t you want me to do that?”

“I’m good…” she said, leaning back slightly to get her hand further down.

John licked his lips. “Right.” He shifted again, pushing his trousers off his hips. He wasn’t sure sure if he was turned on more by what was happening on the screen or right next to him. Hopefully Mary didn’t plan to do all the work on her own...

On screen Jim was moaning and whining, pushing back against Sherwood's fingers. He did not even notice the train slowing down but just gasped: "Please... Fuck me..."

Sherwood had been waiting for this and just as the doors closed, he pulled out his fingers, aligned his cock and pushed in. He paused, but Jim begged him again and, taking hold of Jim's hips, Sherwood began moving in long, deep thrusts.

As the train drove on through the dark tunnels, Sherwood fucked Jim in every imaginable position, making good use of the train’s interior. It wasn’t quite as acrobatic as some scenes in _Of One Mind_ had been, but John had to admit that only left more room to show the passion between the two men. Next to him, Mary made a familiar sound, and he suppressed a wince. Apparently she _had_ finished alone.

Jim came again before Sherwood finished, slamming into him with a final roar. They shared a long, lazy kiss while helping each other bring their clothes back in order and then sank down in their seats, exhausted but content.

Jim closed his eyes and leaned his head on Sherwood's shoulder.

The image blurred and when it came back into focus, Jim opened his eyes again. Sherwood was gone but a few other passengers were scattered throughout the carriage.

Jim looked around frantically but Sherwood was nowhere to be seen.

At the next stop, Jim got up and, walking rather stiffly, left the train. The last shot showed him smiling dreamily as he walked towards the lifts.

The credits began and Mary turned to John. “That was… wow…” she gasped.

John nodded, pushing his trousers even further off and then slipping a hand into his pants.

“John…?” Mary said, suddenly sounding hesitant. Almost shy.

“Yes?” He looked up at her, feeling hopeful and slowing down his hand on his cock.

“Could we maybe…” Mary giggled nervously. “Could we try doing it… like they did?”

John blinked. “On a train?”

Mary snorted. “No… I mean…” She shifted a little. “You know…”

John tilted his head a little and got his hand out of his pants. Mary actually seemed to be blushing. Not just from her orgasm, but because she was… shy? _Mary_?

Then it struck him what she might actually mean. “Oh… You mean… Really?”

Mary nodded. “We could try…” she said before leaning in to kiss him.


	12. Chapter 12

For once, John was glad that he woke up before his alarm. It gave him the chance to snuggle closer to Mary, enjoy the warmth and think back to the previous night. It had been so intense. A few times he’d been afraid he’d come just from the sight of her. Or the thought that he might do the same with Sherlock one day…

He sighed happily, nuzzling her shoulder.

“Morning…” she muttered and then yawned.

“Hey.” John smiled. “Are you okay?”

Mary nodded and turned over to face him, wincing a little.

“Are you sure?” John asked, frowning.

“Yes,” she said, giving him a quick kiss. “Just a bit… sore…”

“I’m sorry.” Now John felt a little guilty that he had enjoyed it so much.

“Don’t be.” Mary smiled. “It felt really good. It was definitely worth a little… ache… now.”

John stroked her cheek. “Okay. So… If I’d like to do that again sometime… Would that be a pain in the arse?”

Mary stared at him for a second, then grabbed his pillow, pulled it out from under his head and tried to smother him with it.

 

…

 

John did want to follow Mary’s advice and give Sherlock some space, but still he felt he had to try and reach out. In the end he decided on a short text as he sat waiting for Mike by the bar of a pub close to the video store. Just to remind Sherlock of his appointment the next day. There was no immediate answer, but John hadn’t really expected one. At least they’d talk tomorrow.

“John!” Mike’s greeting startled him, and a moment later his shoulder received a slap. “Glad you could make it.”

“I promised I would, didn’t I?” John chuckled and fished the flash drive out of his pocket. “Here, before I forget to give you that.”

“Seen it already?” Mike grinned. “What did you think?”

John winced. “Are we really going to talk about this?”

“Hey, it used to be my work. Getting those guys from the right angle.” Mike snorted. “Well, you know what I mean. I’m only happy that people still want to watch it.”

“Well,” John said seriously, “the camerawork was excellent.”

Laughing, they ordered their beers and then found a quiet place to sit.

“How did you get to work for Angelo?” John asked. “I mean, I imagine it’s not the most obvious career move.”

“Oh, you know Angelo?” Mike looked surprised.

“Not well,” John said. “I’ve eaten at his restaurant.”

Mike smiled a little. “Good choice. Well… You know I’ve tried different things before I discovered I really had an eye for this. Shooting pictures, I mean. But finding work wasn’t so easy, and then I discovered Angelo was looking for someone… I knew his magazines, so I wasn’t going to pass up on the chance to prove myself to him. And then it turned out he was going to make more films, and I could stay if I wanted. We made a pretty good team there. Well… Except for Sherlock, of course. _I_ ’ve always sort of liked him. The way he was really driven. But I guess that was also the reason why he could be such an impossible diva.” He chuckled.

“Still can, I think,” John said, smiling.

“So you _have_ met him?” Mike grinned. “Who’d have thought he’d listen to my advice on doctors.”

John rolled his eyes. “It was just evil sending him to a… fan…”

Mike only looked more smug. “Some people’d say he deserved that. He could be a real dick to everyone he worked with.”

“Then again, I _am_ a good doctor,” John pointed out.

“Well, as I said, I do like him.” Mike took a sip of his beer. “I worked with him for a pretty long time. A lot of the crew sort of shied away from him, but I was just really eager to keep working for Angelo. He was just a good employer, you know. Paid us better than most would. And well, if you’ve talked to Sherlock you probably know what he’s like, but it wasn’t _impossible_ to work with him either. I learned a lot. You just had to set your pride aside and listen to him.” He took another sip and frowned a little. “I must say, if he’d delivered his instructions in a slightly more polite way, I think a lot more people would have wanted to listen. Most reacted by trying to bully him into working in more conventional ways and… he really didn’t take well to that. If they were lucky, he’d walk out on them, but if he made the effort of inventing an insult… Damn, he could be mean.”

John smiled. “He’s pretty observant and people usually don’t like the truth.”

“Something like that.” Mike nodded. “In the end it was so bad that I was the only one he wanted to work with. Which was really flattering, but not always convenient. Getting a few more days off would’ve been nice.”

“What about the other actors?” John asked as they’d both sipped their beers again. “Is he as bad to them?”

“Well, not always. Just when he thinks they’re not doing a good enough job. And that was pretty often. He’s even sent people off the set.” Mike smirked at the memory. “Angelo accepted a lot from him, but one time he got really angry. He gave Sherlock a right telling-off that he had no right to be like that to people Angelo had hired. I think we all expected Sherlock to shout back, but he just went quiet. For a couple of days he looked like a beaten dog.”

“Well, an angry Angelo must be frightening,” John said, smiling a little.

Mike nodded. “Very. But only a few weeks after that, he brought Sherlock a treat. I doubt he saw it like that at the time, but… This new actor was a complete novice. He’d done a couple of photo shoots, but that was it. The poor thing was so eager to get started. And cute as a button… Well, you’ve seen young Jim.”

“Yeah,” John said. “Mary likes him a lot. He looks a bit young for me, but… I can imagine they were interested to get him in their films.”

“He looked much younger than he was for a long time,” Mike said. “First time I met him I was joking around a bit, saying I wondered if it was actually legal what we were doing there. Turned out he was 25! Bit awkward, but he just laughed it off. Still… We didn’t know what possessed Angelo to decide that Jim’s first project should be with Sherlock. A couple of other crew members and me actually made bets on how long it’d be before Sherlock had the poor kid reduced to tears. And then they did their first scene together and… Hell, I’d never seen anything like that. Instant chemistry, you know?”

John hummed vaguely in acknowledgement. This was starting to sound all too much like some love-at-first-sight story from one of Sherwood’s films. “So back then they also got along off screen?”

“Quite well, I’d say.” Mike pushed his glasses up. “They spent that first afternoon together on set. Sherlock talked Jim through the action, showed him all the different positions he’d be putting him in, and you should have seen Jim. All eyes and ears, nodding to everything Sherlock said, doing his best to follow his exact orders. And his best was very good. That kid could act. I think even Sherlock must have been impressed, but of course he wouldn’t say as much.”

John finished his beer and ordered another for both of them, then turned back to Mike to hear more.

“Our next worry was how he would handle actually having sex in front of the camera,” Mike continued. “But that also went better than we’d dared hope. He was a natural. Though it may have had something to do with Sherlock, too. He was so… gentle. More patient and sensual than I’d seen him with anyone else. I think there must have been _some_ kind of attraction between them that crossed the borders of the professional, or Sherlock would never have changed like that.”

John nodded, trying not to frown.

“We all reaped the benefits, of course.” Mike smiled. “Angelo immediately declared _Mind the Gap_ UMQRA’s best film to date and proceeded to set up a whole series of films for Sherlock and Jim to do together. The two of them looked amazing on screen and although bits of the old Sherlock kept showing up at times, Jim had a subtle way of handling him. He just made him easier to work with. It was incredible. In the next year, their films brought in a lot of money, so we could make bigger productions, with ever more challenging and interesting camerawork too. To good times.” He raised his new pint and drank, winking at John, who smiled.

“But they’re not exactly on friendly terms now, are they?” John asked when he had taken a sip of his own. “Any idea what happened?”

Mike shrugged. “Not for sure, but… Around the time we started working on _Relevé_ , pretty much everyone was convinced those two were a couple off screen. Except for Angelo, maybe. I don’t think anyone had actually walked in on them, but yeah, those rumours were strong.”

John almost wished he hadn’t asked. He couldn’t tell Mike that he didn’t like to think of Sherlock being in a relationship with Jim. It was ridiculous to feel uncomfortable about something that happened so long ago, anyway, and yet something about the idea felt so wrong.

“While they were writing and planning that film, they were practically inseparable,” Mike recalled. “Sherlock kept going on and on about how it would revolutionise the industry. Show everybody that porn didn’t have to be just sex. That it could have a real plot. Real characters. And that viewers would get even more enjoyment from it by caring about the people they were watching having sex.” He nodded slowly. “I wasn’t so convinced at the time. I thought a small group of people might indeed enjoy that kind of film, but you know, most just want to use porn to get off and then move on, wouldn’t you think? Then again, we could afford a little risk by then, and it was an interesting set-up. And once it was on the way, there was no denying that it was going to be spectacular. Those two guys were on fire. Their performances were worthy of a Hollywood hit… And then suddenly it was all over.” He shook his head sadly. “We’d been shooting that big fight in New York. Not that we actually went to New York, of course, it was just a studio in Cardiff. Sherlock and Jim stayed on set to plan the sex scene for the next day. No surprises there - I mean, that’s a really tricky one. All that anger and aggression… Bit of a leap from how those two usually worked, too.” He cleared his throat and drank again.

“No one knew what happened that night. And the next day… God.” Mike actually shivered. “They went at each other as if they really wanted to kill and devour each other. Which was what we were aiming for, of course, and the sex got pretty amazing, but… It was the hardest job I’d ever done to get the shots I needed. And when I asked to stop and change positions, it was as if they’d gone deaf. They just ignored me and went at it like there was no one else in the room. It wasn’t exactly the best experience of my career.”

“I can imagine,” John said, pulling a face.

Mike took a large swig of his beer, then wiped his mouth. “Still got a worse one, though… After that scene, Sherlock went back home to London for a couple of days, while Jim shot the scenes that were supposed to take place in London. Earlier, Sherlock had promised to return in time to plan and rehearse the final scene, but the night before that shoot, I found Jim alone on the set, sitting in the middle of the large bed. He looked completely lost. Obviously I asked where Sherlock was, but he just shrugged. I talked him into taking some rest and the next morning Sherlock was there, so we started filming… But something was off. Their kissing was forced, sometimes even awkward to look at. And they moved on so quickly that in the end there was hardly any footage I could use. Sherlock’s performance during the actual sex was flawless as always - maybe just a bit _too_ flawless. But Jim… He didn’t even try. He just lay there. Glaring at Sherlock as if he wanted to kill him or just glancing off into the distance as though it was all happening to someone else.” Mike shook his head again. “Eventually it looked like he had started crying. I called cut and Jim just got up and left. Wouldn’t even accept the robe he was offered. Sherlock got dressed and went off to talk to Angelo. A couple of days later they brought in this other kid. Richard, I think he was called. He had the right hair and build, but he was no Jim. We did manage to finish the scene with him, though, shooting around his face and other parts that would be too obviously not Jim…”

So Mary was right. The camera _had_ been more focused on Sherwood, as they actually did have something to hide.

Mike emptied his pint. “They never worked together again after that. And not long after, a new actor joined the company… Sebastian Moran. Within a week, he and Jim were a couple. Case of rebound if you ever saw one, but then again I’ve heard they’re still together now. But hell, they were bad. Snogging and more, all over the studio, as long as they could get away with it. They were hot together, but their films were often more messy and involved a _lot_ more kink than Angelo had approved of before. It was as if he just let Jim have things his way. Sherlock, on the other hand, stopped acting altogether and decided he wanted to direct instead. You can imagine how that went…”

John snorted. “I’m sure he made for a popular director.”

“You’re guessing right.” Mike chuckled. “Well, he soon gave it up and announced that he was going to take a break from work. By the time he got back, Angelo had announced that he was quitting the business and opening that restaurant he'd been talking about for years. Called it his semi-retirement. Sherlock figured he could as easily produce his own films and somehow talked me into joining him, but... It never really took off.” He shrugged. “I can’t help but wonder how things would have gone if the _Sherwood and Jim_ collaboration hadn’t gone awry.”

John nodded. “Quite the story.”

“Yeah…” Mike stared at his empty glass for a moment and then smiled. “Now, on to more interesting things. The adventures of Three Continents Watson… There should be enough to fill a couple of films there, eh?”

 

...

 

They had talked about all kinds of things and John was happy to have caught up with his old friend, but on the way home his thoughts returned to that first subject. Sherlock. Everything had pointed to some kind of involvement between Sherlock and Jim in the past, so it really shouldn't be a shock. And yet, actually hearing about it... John had to admit he felt a little upset. He didn't quite know why. Was it just that he didn't like Sherlock in a romantic relationship with someone else? He'd seen him with plenty of guys on screen, but that was Sherwood, not the man himself. And Sherlock had actually told him that he'd never had anything like he had with John. But perhaps he had _wanted_ it. With Jim.

No, John decided. The thought just bothered him because he'd met Jim the way he was now. A hateful, angry little man seeking cover behind his bodyguard of a boyfriend. The thought that Sherlock had been with someone who was now able to treat him like that... _That_ was why John had almost physically shuddered at Mike's story.

He glanced at his phone. Nothing from Sherlock, of course. Only a little over 12 hours before he'd see him again. Maybe he should just ask him then. How things had been with Jim. Explain that he knew it was none of his business, but that he kept hearing things that might give him the wrong idea, so he'd rather hear the story from Sherlock. Because they were together, even if things were complicated.

 

...

 

“John?” Mary said, softly, hesitating in the door to his office. “He’s here…”

John looked up. It was a relief that Sherlock hadn’t decided to ignore their appointment, but at the same time he felt a little nervous about how this would go. “Tell him he can come in,” he said, smiling at Mary.

She nodded, whispered: “Good luck,” and left.

A moment later, Sherlock appeared. He was still wearing both his coat and scarf. His collar was up and his hands buried deep in his pockets.

“John…” he said, not coming any closer.

“Sherlock.” John tried for a smile, but he was getting more worried by the second. “Please, come in and close the door.”

With a curt nod, Sherlock stepped forward, then turned his back to John, as he seemed to put a great deal of focus into the simple task. When the door had clicked shut, he stood for a moment, his head down. Then he took a deep breath and turned to face John.

Frowning at how miserable he looked, John got to his feet and walked round his desk. “Sherlock… Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Sherlock said, shrugging. “I’m fine. Perfect health, though…” He tried to chuckle. “We’ll be trying to change that… right?”

“Of course,” John echoed, “but… I think we need to talk. I’ve… I’ve missed you this week. After we spoke on the phone.”

“We do,” Sherlock muttered, looking down at his feet. “Is… Is Mary okay? Now?”

“Yeah. But… You know, she never intended for us to stop seeing each other. Just not…” He smiled a little. “Well, what we were about to do by that tree. Out in the open.”

“I understand,” Sherlock said, still not looking at him. “I…” His voice broke and he gasped. “It’s fine.”

John shook his head and stepped closer, until he could take his hand. “Sherlock, look at me. Please.”

It seemed to take a great deal of effort, but Sherlock finally raised his head enough enough that John could see his eyes were a little red.

John bit his lip and reached out to touch Sherlock’s cheek. “Sherlock…”

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into John’s touch. When he began speaking, the words came pouring out as if he couldn’t control them. Couldn’t stop:

“It's like... I've always been able to keep myself distant. All the things I did with partners. In movies or for other reasons... All the kisses... the looks... and touches... It was just mechanics. A means to an end. But then you happened and... John... For the first time I do these things because I really, really want to. Because I need them. It's like my body's betraying me. Or my... my heart? Every time I see you all I can think about is being as close to you as possible. The times we spent together... I've never felt anything like that.” He gasped for breath and then put his hand over John’s as if to keep it there. “It felt so good. Really, really good. I wasn’t prepared for it. I had no techniques. No defences. You made me surrender and I didn’t realise how vulnerable that made me until… until I thought that maybe I couldn't have it. That it had all been some horrible mistake. I mean… Who would want to be with me? Like that?”

For a moment John stood staring at him, his eyes wide. Then he put his other hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “God, Sherlock… _I_ do. I’m sorry if I didn’t make it clear enough… But I do.” He looked into Sherlock’s eyes and wanted to pull him in for a kiss, but he had to make sure that Sherlock understood. That it wasn’t just about the kisses and caresses, but about him.

“Why?” Sherlock whispered.

John blinked. “ _Why_?”

“I’m a pretty horrible person,” Sherlock said, this time managing a small, crooked smile.

John nodded. “Oh yes. I’ve heard all that. But I also know how amazing you make me feel. How many times you’ve made me laugh and how kind you can be when you’re not paying attention.” He smiled a little. “You are the most brilliant man I’ve ever met. Who happens to be extremely attractive, too. Is that enough of a reason?”

Completely lost for words, Sherlock bit his lip and nodded. “Good… good reason…”

John grinned. “Thanks.” He pulled his hand loose from Sherlock’s and wrapped both his arms around him.

Sherlock practically sagged into the hug, breathing a shaky sigh. He rested his head on John’s shoulder and just held him for a long time. Finally he pulled back. “Is it okay… Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“No one around here to see us, is there?” John said, smiling, before he stretched towards Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock bent down to meet him, whimpering as their lips met.

John had intended to make it a short kiss so they could go about the test, but now he couldn’t help humming against Sherlock’s lips, opening his mouth and wanting him even closer.

Sherlock all but thrust his tongue into John’s mouth, pulling him so close against him that they almost tumbled.

John groaned, kissing him greedily, but Sherlock was so fierce he felt he could hardly keep up with him. It wasn’t long before he felt his back hit the wall and then Sherlock’s mouth left his, only to latch on to his neck, just below the ear.

Sherlock sucked and nibbled the skin as he moved his hands round so he could start unbuttoning John’s shirt with frantic haste. Growling against John’s skin, he moved down to bite his collarbone softly.

John moaned, still stroking Sherlock’s waist. “We should… The test… Fuck...”

Sherlock just chuckled darkly, licking his way down to John’s left nipple.

“Sherlock…” John groaned.

“John…” Sherlock breathed against his skin, pushing his open shirt aside, only to proceed with unbuckling his belt.

“What are you…?”

“What do you think?” As Sherlock pulled down the zipper of John’s trousers, he sank gracefully to his knees.

“But I’m supposed to be… working…” John looked down at him and had to close his eyes for a moment. “Oh, hell…”

Sherlock’s hands left him for a moment but then returned to pull both trousers and pants down.

John sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. “Are you sure you want… this…?” he asked the ceiling.

Instead of answering, Sherlock wrapped one hand around John’s cock, stroking him a few times. Then he leaned forward and took him in his mouth, all the way to the root in one fluid motion.

“Ffffff…” John said, trying to keep his hips still. But then he realised they’d forgotten something. “Shouldn’t we… condom…?” He looked down at Sherlock and licked his lips.

Sherlock pulled back slowly, letting him see that the condom was, in fact, already in place. He looked up at John, his eyes sparkling wickedly as he sucked him back in.

“Oh hell,” John whimpered, one of his hands tangling in Sherlock’s curls out of its own account. “You have to tell me sometime… how you… do that…” He let out another too-loud groan, before he realised he should keep quiet, as there could still be people waiting on the other side of the door.

Sherlock hummed as he began bobbing his head, keeping his eyes on John’s.

“You’re amazing…” John muttered. “Just… Sherlock…”

Sherlock didn’t stop moving, but raised a questioning eyebrow.

John shook his head, his fingernails scratching softly over Sherlock’s scalp. “I’m not going to hold out long.”

With another hum, Sherlock began moving his head faster, doing something absolutely wicked with his tongue.

John slapped the hand that wasn’t in Sherlock’s hair over his mouth, but couldn’t hold back a few small sounds as his hips jerked. “Fuck, Sherlock…”

Sherlock showed no mercy, but did the thing with his tongue again, sending John over the edge.

Afterwards John was sure he had made a lot more noise than was advisable, and he was slightly surprised to find that the wall was still supporting his weight when he came back to his senses. Sherlock was smugly grinning up at him and John shook his head a little incredulously.

“That was…” he started, but then realised he didn’t have a word for it.

“I know,” Sherlock said, removing the condom and tucking John back into his pants before pulling up his trousers.

John let out a chuckle. “So… Shall I return the favour?”

“Well..” Sherlock got to his feet. “Have you ever done that before?” He gave John a quick kiss and then began buttoning his shirt.

“No, but… Doesn’t mean I don’t want to…” John leaned in and stole another kiss.

“I think we should wait,” Sherlock said, smiling down at him. “Until we have more time and… privacy…”

John nodded slowly. “There are other options, of course…”

“I think we should do the test.” Sherlock stroked John’s cheek gently. “We’ll have plenty of opportunity later. Right?”

John nodded. “If you’re sure.”

“John.” Sherlock took John’s hand and gently moved it down to press against the front of his own trousers. “As much as I enjoyed doing that and… I _really_ enjoyed doing that, I am not in desperate need of release. I can wait.”

“Yes, of course.” John cleared his throat, his fingers lingering in place just a little too long. He tried not to be disappointed at the fact that Sherlock wasn’t even hard. After all he was a porn actor. He could control this kind of thing. But still, John would have liked to touch him…

Well, he still could. As his doctor.

“The test,” he said, pulling back his hand and smiling up at Sherlock.

“The test,” Sherlock agreed, nodding slowly.


	13. Chapter 13

“John Watson,” Mary said, closing the door behind her. “Did you just shag a patient in your office?”

“Uh…” John said, trying to suppress a grin. “Technically he wasn’t a patient…”

Mary gasped. “No…? Really…?”

“Well, we didn’t really _shag_ ,” John said, chuckling.

“Define ‘really’,” Mary demanded, crossing her arms, trying to look stern.

“A blowjob doesn’t count as shagging, does it?” John asked.

Mary squealed but quickly covered her mouth. She rushed over and hugged him. “Please tell me you thought to take pictures,” she teased before kissing him.

“What do you think?” John asked, laughing.

“I think you were too busy grunting so loudly I had to turn on the radio to keep Mrs Poke from having another heart attack…”

John’s eyes widened. “You could hear us? You’re kidding, right?”

“I heard… something…” Mary giggled. “I don’t think I’ve ever made you make that noise…”

“He’s, er, pretty good… Not that you aren’t.”

“I bet he’s good,” Mary said. “And I want details. But Mrs Poke has been waiting for almost 30 minutes. I just wanted to make sure you were actually conscious…”

John snorted. “Right. Send her in. By the way, Sherlock’s picking me up after work. I won’t be gone long, but just so you know.”

"He is...?" Mary smiled. "So I guess you two are really back on track?"

John nodded. "I hope so. But this is for work. Making sure he doesn't have to do Jim's film."

Mary nodded and then went over to open the door and call in Mrs Poke.

 

…

 

Sherlock texted John the name of a nearby café half an hour before his shift was done. John couldn't help but blush when he spotted the dark curls on the other side of the window, remembering how soft they had been against his fingers. But he shouldn't be thinking of epic blowjobs now. Not in public. They had a mission tonight.

As soon as Sherlock saw him, he finished his tea and joined John outside. They didn't really talk until they sat in the cab to Bart's.

"Quite a change, isn't it?" John said, smiling. "Compared to last time, I mean..."

Sherlock chuckled. "Yes. I am completely devoid of stolen goods today."

"Oh, that too." John grinned. "Then again, we're sort of stealing your sample away from the usual lab..."

"They never had it in the first place." Sherlock shrugged. "So I don't think that can be considered stealing."

"You always have an excuse ready... Either they won't miss it or they've never had it." John smirked. "You did _buy_ that sofa, right?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, tensing slightly. "I... I couldn't very well fit that in my pocket, could I?"

John chuckled and gave Sherlock's hand, which was resting between them, a squeeze. "For the record, I don't actually think you're a kleptomaniac. I'd have heard more stories about you nicking things on set."

Sherlock smiled and looked down. Then he pulled his hand away. "Please don't," he whispered.

"Right. Sorry." John frowned a little. Even the cabbie wouldn't have seen the gesture, but perhaps Sherlock was right. They'd better get used to not touching at all in public.

Sherlock opened his mouth as if to say something more. But he changed his mind and just smiled again.

John studied him for a long moment. "You are allowed to speak your mind around me, you know," he said finally. "I mean... You should. Mary may be the one making the rules, but that doesn't mean you don't have a say in things."

Sherlock sighed. "It's just... touching and things like that. It makes me want more. So it would be easier if you didn't do it at times when we have to hold back. It would be easier for me..."

John almost reached for his hand again at the sight of Sherlock’s expression, but instead just nodded. “Of course. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Sherlock nodded too and then turned to look out the window, his curls falling forward and hiding his face from John.

 

…

 

“Bit different from my day,” John muttered as he and Sherlock entered the lab. Clearly Sherlock knew his way around Bart’s; he had rushed through the corridors, confident that John would follow.

"That was a very long time ago, John," Sherlock said, looking around as if searching for someone.

John was about to reply when a door opened and a girl with brown hair and a lab coat entered.

"Sherlock!" She laughed a little nervously. “It’s been a while. We were starting to miss you around here…”

"Molly," Sherlock said, flashing her his brightest smile. "I would like you to meet my dear friend and doctor, John Watson.”

"Oh, hi. I'm Molly Hooper," she said, lightly taking John's hand before turning back to Sherlock, who was still smiling. She blinked a few times, as though her eyes hadn't quite adapted to the brilliance. "Did you get any use out of that riding crop experiment?" she inquired.

"Yes," Sherlock said, his smile turning a little stiff. "It was very... educational..."

John smiled a little. "Bet it was."

Molly gave him a confused look, but once again her gaze was immediately drawn back to Sherlock. "Anything I can help you with? I just finished my work for today, but I don't mind..."

"I need help," Sherlock said, frowning as he looked her straight in the eyes. "I need you, Molly."

Molly blushed fiercely. "Yes. Of course. Anything," she said breathlessly.

John raised his eyebrows.

"I can't tell you why," Sherlock said, leaning slightly closer. "But I need some tests to give... questionable results..."

"Oh... What kind of questionable?" she asked, frowning a little.

"Nothing bad. Just inconclusive... You can do that, right?"

"Sure. I mean, as long as it's legal. Not that I expect you to do anything illegal." She looked a little startled at her own words and John could barely suppress a snort.

"Of course," Sherlock said, reaching up to push a stray lock of hair away from Molly's forehead. "Perfectly legal. Nothing to worry about."

John followed the movement, starting to get a little annoyed with Sherlock. It was so obvious that he was playing her.

She actually leaned into his touch for a second, before she stepped back, blushing even more. "So, what kind of test are we talking about?" she asked quickly.

"STIs," Sherlock said, fishing the tube out of his pocket and holding it out for her.

"What?" She stared at the tube. "But... Whose...?"

Leaning even closer, Sherlock whispered: "Just pretend it's mine... Do this for me. Please."

"And you want it inconclusive?" Molly frowned. "What use is it to make someone think they _might_ have an STI?"

"That, I'm afraid, I cannot tell you," Sherlock said, looking like he genuinely regretted this. "But I can promise you that no one will be harmed. Quite the opposite."

Molly gave John a puzzled look and then seemed to relax. "All right. Tell me what exactly you want me to do."

 

…

 

"So," John said as he and Sherlock left the hospital. "Molly. She doesn't know what you do, does she?"

Sherlock just smiled and shook his head.

"And she probably thinks you're straight?"

"I don't know what she thinks." Sherlock shrugged. "But she's very useful at times."

"I saw..." Even though he knew it was only an act, John hadn't liked Sherlock's flirting with her. Because somehow it had so obviously been Sherlock she wanted, not Sherwood.

At the same time, he realised he had no right at all to be jealous. He might be dating Sherlock, but _he_ was the one who was married, for god's sake. They hadn't talked about this, but it seemed pretty obvious that Sherlock had the right to flirt with whomever he liked. And yet John had disliked the friendly girl more and more with every step Sherlock took closer to her and every lingering look.

"She's a pathologist. This kind of thing really isn't her job, you know," he mumbled.

"She is capable," Sherlock said.

"And if she wasn't, she'd learn it if you just batted your lashes a few times." John shook his head.

"Don't be silly. Something like that can't just be learned."

"She'd do it for you," John insisted.

"Of course she would. But it would take too long, John. We really don't have time for that."

John rolled his eyes. "That's not my point."

"Oh?" Sherlock stopped walking and looked at John. "Oh..." he grinned. "You're jealous..."

John huffed. "You should have seen yourself. I know I..." He hesitated. "Well, I know I can't exactly claim you all for myself. But I just..." He shrugged, crossing his arms.

Sherlock stared at him, then chuckled. "This way," he said, gestured for John to follow and turned down a smaller street.

John raised his eyebrows. "Where are we going now?"

Sherlock didn't answer as he turned another corner. He looked around and then suddenly grabbed John's hand and pulled him close. "I thought we needed a little privacy," Sherlock whispered, his lips dangerously close to John's. "The odds of being spotted here are 123 to 1. But the longer we stay, the riskier it gets. So... Should we take the chance?"

John's eyes widened. "We... we shouldn't... There's still a chance..."

"Just a kiss," Sherlock purred. "Just a tiny little kiss..."

John blinked and then dove in, grabbing Sherlock's shoulders and hungrily pressing his lips against his. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, matching his passion and deepening the kiss. Sighing, John tangled a hand in Sherlock's hair as he felt the other man's tongue against his. They really should stop, but how was he supposed to pull back from this after Sherlock had gotten him so worked up?

"92 to 1," Sherlock moaned into his mouth. "We need to stop soon."

"Don't... do that..." John breathed. Sherlock's mentioning of the chances reminded him all too much of a certain train scene and he really didn't need that now. He didn't want to think about Jim or anyone else who had ever touched Sherlock. He pressed in even closer and could hardly suppress a whimper.

"Don't... stop?" Sherlock gasped, giggling breathlessly.

"No..." John made a great effort to pull back, but couldn't help giving Sherlock another small kiss. "We _should_ stop. Or at least... Go somewhere."

Sherlock nodded, straightening his shirt. "I wish we could... But I need to go see Gerard. Some details about the new studio that need sorting out. But maybe we could meet on Tuesday? Since I won’t be doing that film for James." He chuckled.

John nodded, a little disappointed. "Who's Gerard then? Should I get jealous again?" He smiled.

"I told you about Gerard," Sherlock said, frowning. "My agent."

"Wasn't your agent called Gil?" John asked. "Or..." He frowned. "You've also been talking about a George..." Surely Sherlock didn't have a whole army of agents. Then he remembered how Sherlock had kept getting Hugo Knight’s name wrong and started laughing.

“Huh? No… Gerard… Gerard Lestrade.” Sherlock blinked a few times. “Or maybe George…”

“I guess I should be happy you’re not calling me Jeremias. Or Jesus…”

“Well… You called me God, so…” Sherlock laughed.

“Not because I forgot your name,” John said, grinning. “Wonder what Mr Lestrade’s name actually is… Maybe _he_ ’s actually called God.”

“I’ll ask him next time I see him…”

 

…

 

“So, you wanted details,” John said as he came home and threw his jacket over a chair, feeling smug.

Mary was standing by the sink, looking out the window. At first she didn’t respond, then she shrugged. “Maybe later, John,” she muttered.

“Oh…” Deflated, he stepped closer to her. “Is everything okay? We stayed longer than I’d expected, so I thought you’d be impatient by now...”

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning towards him. She tried to smile but it turned into a bitter grimace instead. “I’m just not in a very good mood right now. Don’t let it ruin your day. I’ll love to hear about it later.”

“Did something happen?” John asked, gently touching her shoulder.

She flinched a little and then sighed. “Not really. I’ve just been doing some… research… It wasn’t pleasant.”

“Research?” John frowned.

“That Moran bloke you told me about. I figured there had to be a reason why Sherlock was so determined not to work with him.” Mary gestured towards an open dvd cover on the coffee table. “So I decided to watch one of his films…”

John winced. “That was probably not your best decision.”

“I don’t know…” Mary went over to the telly to get the dvd out of the player. “I learned a lot. More than I wanted.”

John sighed. “Do you want to talk about what you’ve seen? I’ve never even really seen him in action, but he was in that army film and… Well. That _was_ unpleasant.”

“It was really disgusting,” she said. “Nothing sexy about it at all. Just pain and force and… humiliation. And the worst part… He was doing all that stuff to Jim… Young Jim. Like he looked in those movies we saw… That sweet young lad…”

John took her hand. “He’s still with Moran these days. And I’ve heard he was really into that kind of work. I don’t think you need to feel too bad for him,” he said.

“Not for him as a person,” Mary said quickly. “But I kept seeing him like his characters. Like he was that student on the train and after he’d met Sherlock he was kidnapped by this beast on his way home. Or from _Relevé_. That he’d gotten himself involved in that stuff after leaving New York. You know as a sort of rebound thing gone bad… It was horrible.” She shivered as she put the dvd back in the cover, then tossed it down on the table.

“Come here,” John said, spreading his arms but not immediately hugging her in case she’d rather have some space.

Yet space didn’t seem to be on Mary’s mind. She rushed to him, leaning gratefully on his chest. “He cut him, John,” she whispered. “Carved letters into his skin…”

“Ssh,” John said, kissing her hair. “Don’t think about it. We can put something else on. Not porn, I mean. But something to chase away the images. It helped me when I’d watched the colonel.”

“No…” she said after a moment’s thought. “I’d rather hear about what you two got up to. In your office and afterwards.”

“Well… There’s not quite as much to tell about tonight,” John said, smiling a little. “We just went to the lab to keep Sherlock out of Moran’s reach. Though we did have a nice snog after that… Not where anyone could see us,” he added quickly.

“Good for you,” she said. Then she pulled away to look up at him. “It will work, right? That plan of yours? That monster’s not getting his hands on Sherlock, is he?”

John shook his head. “They can’t film if they aren’t sure Sherlock is completely clean. I imagine Moran wouldn’t want to, anyway.”

“I doubt he’d care,” she muttered glumly. “But I guess there are rules and such. In the business.”

“Yeah. And Jim needs to follow them just like everybody else, or he’ll get in serious trouble. It will all be fine,” he said, hugging her again.

"I'm so glad Sherlock's got you." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I don't even want to think about what would have happened if he had been facing this alone."

John smiled. "I'm also happy. That he doesn't just have me, but also your support. I can't thank you enough for that."

"I wish I could do more," she said. "For both of you. I still feel bad about... restricting you."

"Don't," John said, giving her a small squeeze. "I should have thought about it at the time. Because you are right. People wouldn't understand. It's better this way."

"Better for Sherlock too?" Mary muttered.

"In a sense," John said slowly. "If other people don't get involved, I think this... thing... has a lot more chance to work out well for all of us. So in the end, that is better, right?"

"I suppose so." Suddenly Mary gasped. "You could go away. On a weekend or something. Some place where you won't be recognised."

John smiled. "And then in the morning it turns out that one of our friends was sleeping in the next room... Well, _trying_ to sleep..."

“Oi!” Mary laughed. “Check first… And put up a webcam.”

John chuckled. “I’ll ask him what he thinks on Tuesday.”

“He’s a porn star. Surely he won’t object to a little home video.”

“But I’m not a porn star,” John pointed out.

“True… So make sure he’s on top.”

 

…

 

John didn’t hear from Sherlock all weekend, but then he supposed that the actor was busy with his new studio. And with getting the approval of his army of agents, he thought, giggling a little. Still, he didn’t have to miss him too much, as he found a film which Sherlock had done between his UMQRA and GOFFT periods, called _Painting Ribbons_. The co-star was a young man, Raz, who had a real talent for airbrush bodypaint and was using Sherwood as his canvas. The painting had looked nice enough, but soon they had of course messed it up completely. All in all the film was funnier than it was hot, but he and Mary had a good time watching it.

 

On Tuesday morning, John received a text shortly after he had arrived at work, telling him that Sherlock was satisfied with his test results. Smiling, John texted back:

‘ _Freedom awaits. Where are we meeting tonight?_ ’

_‘Angelo’s. He’ll want to hear the good news too. SH’_

‘ _Looking forward._ ’

 

…

 

John arrived a little early at the restaurant, but Angelo welcomed him just as cordially as last time. He brought him to a table further away from the window and proceeded to bring a bottle of wine without John needing to ask anything.

“He’s always late,” Angelo said, sitting down. “So I hope you don’t mind if I keep you company. I’ve been on my feet all day.”

“Of course not,” John said, smiling. “Sherlock specifically wanted to meet here so you can share in the celebration.”

“Oh, you’re celebrating? A happy announcement perhaps?” Angelo winked.

“Well, yes, but not about… us.” John laughed. “I’ll let him tell you. He’s probably prepared a little show.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Angelo let out a loud bark of laughter. “He’s such a diva, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” John said. “But then, if the stories I’ve heard are true, he’s not half as bad now as back when he worked for you.”

“He isn’t?” Angelo raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe he’s just making an effort around you? He does that, you know. He’s a complete prick to everyone except the few who can win his respect.”

John smiled a little. “I’ve heard that, too. Mike told me about when you were all working together. Including Jim…”

“Oh yes…” Angelo frowned. “That was a very…. unusual time. When Jim came to me looking for work I was tempted to turn him down. I mean, he had the look, no doubt about that. A ‘twink’, they call it. In fact, in the right light he looked positively illegal. But he had almost zero experience and he seemed kind of…” Angelo ran a hand through his hair, while searching for the word. “Fragile… I know it sounds odd when you see him now, but I really feared that we’d break the lad if we let him into the business. But I’ve got a soft heart and he made those eyes…” He laughed at the memory and then tried to imitate the pleading look Jim had supposedly used on him. “Anyways… I brought him round the studio and Sherlock went right for him, declaring he was perfect for his next project. I can tell you, I thought that was it. Jimmy would be out the door halfway through the first shot. I even had an actor on standby. A cute but experienced fella. But then those two boys pulled the rug out from under all of us. That film was bloody dynamite. The one with the trains. Have you seen it?”

“Yes,” John said. “ _Mind the Gap_ was quite… thrilling.”

“Yes. Thrilling. That’s the right word for it.” Angelo picked up the bottle and poured them both a glass of wine. “After that it was all rainbows and roses. Well… not really, because… Well… Sherlock…”

John chuckled, as Angelo went on: “They were thick as thieves. Always side by side, whispering, laughing. I know most people thought they were an item, but I knew Sherlock too well to fall for that. He’d recognised Jim’s value as an actor. Knew he’d be an asset to Sherlock’s own career. So he ‘handled’ him. Treated him the way he knew Jim would like. Would fall for, so to speak.”

“You think he only did it to be able to use him?” John asked, raising his eyebrows as he thought of Molly.

“At first. But it became more, I think. He had found a kindred spirit in Jim. Because that kid was sharp. For the first time Sherlock had found someone who could keep up with him. Run circles around him even, in some areas. They became friends. The first time either of them really had a friend, I reckon. If they could have stayed that way things would have been peachy, but alas, Jim wanted more. I spotted it right away. That first kiss in the train-movie? The one that’s actually in the movie? It was _their_ first kiss. Sherlock insisted that we use that one. Same with the initial penetration. He wanted Jim’s responses to be real. Wouldn’t let us do a second take. And he was right. Jim was very, very believable in those shots. Because it _was_ real to him. From the moment their lips touched he was absolutely, hopelessly besotted with that wanker. Pardon me, but you know how Sherlock is.” Angelo sighed and poured himself another glass of wine. “Perceptive as he may be, Sherlock can also be completely oblivious to some things. He never had a clue that Jim had fallen in love with him.”

John stared at him, feeling rather shocked.

"Yes... Love..." Angelo nodded. “It started out as a crush but soon he was completely lost. And with the way Sherlock was treating him, Jim probably believed he felt the same way. It was like watching a train collision. I could see disaster in the making, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. Not if I wanted those two to keep working together. And boy, did I ever. I feel bad about it now, of course, but back then, all I could see was the quality of the work they were putting out. And the money they were bringing in. I kept telling myself that Jim would get over it. Or maybe Sherlock would wise up and realise that they were actually made for each other. And then things started to go wrong. There was this other guy working for me. Phillip… I think… He was an average actor at best, but he was very keen. He’d gotten it into his head that doing a Sherwood film could get his career moving. Sherlock wouldn’t have anything to do with him, of course. Until one day Phillip showed up with this script. Said he wrote it himself, but I suspect he had help from someone. Anyways, it was bloody good. Very sensual and erotic. Not much actual sex. He pitched it to Sherlock, who signed on at once. It was right along the lines of the stuff he and Jim were doing at the time. Targeted at a different audience. Sherlock had this theory that there was a very large group of people out there, both men and women, who wanted to watch gay porn but were put off by the crassness of the industry. People who wanted aesthetics and emotions. Storylines and characters. Well… Phillip had caught on to that and was using it to get to Sherlock. But then it happened. We had just started on pre-production for that project when Phillip had his accident. It was a nasty fall and the poor guy ended up spending nearly four months in hospital. Project was put on hold, then cancelled. Sherlock was frustrated at first, but soon forgot about it as they’d started working on that ballet-film. But something wasn’t right… I just knew it. The police were asking questions and though nothing was ever proved, it was pretty obvious that Phillip’s fall wasn’t just an accident. Someone had ‘helped’ him. I didn’t want to believe it, but as I watched him over the next couple of weeks, I became convinced that Jim was the one behind it. I don’t know why… There was nothing concrete. I just knew…”

John shook his head incredulously. “He’d do that just to be the only one working with Sherlock? That’s... sick...”

“I doubt it was just about the work at that point. He didn't want anyone near Sherlock. In any way,” Angelo said. “I wanted to fire him, but made the mistake of first telling Sherlock about it. He said that if Jim went, so did he. He assured me that if a crime had been committed, he would have been the first to know. I didn’t really believe him, but I had already invested a lot of money in that film, since it involved some very elaborate sets. So what could I do? I let them go along with it, still keeping an eye on Jim when I could.”

John nodded. “Sounds like a good idea. Maybe it actually explains what went wrong between Sherlock and Jim… I mean, if Sherlock finally found out that it _was_ Jim’s doing…”

“I don’t know…” Angelo sighed and shook his head. “ _Something_ happened. One day they were the best of friends. The next they couldn’t stand the sight of each other.”

“And you have no idea what happened?” John asked.

“No. I tried to talk to Sherlock about it. When I had to pull Jim out of that film. But he wouldn’t say anything about it. Just that he and Jim would not be working together again.”

“Yes. That’s what Mike told me,” John said, frowning a little.

Angelo seemed about to say something more, but just then one of the waiters came over and bent down to whisper in his ear. With a small groan, he got to his feet. “You will have to excuse me, John. I’m needed behind the bar. But then again, I expect you’d rather have Sherlock to yourself when he gets here.”

John smiled. “When he finally does…”

He watched Angelo walk over to the bar, then checked his watch. Sherlock _was_ rather late. But perhaps he was just standing on the other side of the street to watch John again. Smiling at the memory, John looked over his shoulder, but there was no one in a dark coat. Probably Sherlock just had another meeting with his agent running late. Or had forgotten that they were supposed to meet… But no. He had seemed rather eager to celebrate getting out of the film and they were supposed to be going over the safety of his own project one last time. And who knew where they’d end up after dinner…

The door opened again and John shook himself out of a nice daydream, but it wasn’t Sherlock. A moment later, one of the waiters brought him something to nibble, which could distract him from his watch for a while, as he was rather hungry. But barely ten minutes had passed before he grabbed his phone and sent a text, asking if Sherlock was on his way.

“When were you supposed to meet?” Angelo asked, appearing beside him.

“Seven,” John said. “Is he usually _this_ late? Last time it was just a couple of minutes…”

Angelo looked up at the clock on the wall and shook his head. “No… Not without getting in touch…”

John frowned. “I’d better try calling him then.” He pushed Sherlock’s name, but it seemed his phone was switched off.

“Great…” he muttered, putting it back on the table.

“He’s not answering?” Angelo asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

“No,” John said. “But surely he’ll be here in a minute…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just warning you: there’s only one chapter and an epilogue to go...


	14. Chapter 14

‘ _Sherlock still hasn’t shown up_ ’, John texted Mary at half past seven.

‘ _I’m sure he’ll be there. He wouldn’t stand you up like that._ ’

 _‘I know… Just getting a little worried._ ’

John tapped his phone on the table a few times. If Sherlock still hadn’t shown up at eight, he’d go home to Mary. His patience wasn’t endless. When Sherlock would finally arrive at the restaurant he’d probably somehow make it about John just not waiting long enough, but he could handle that. Though he would still prefer it if Sherlock walked in right now. He had been looking forward to this evening rather a lot. After having heard Mary talk about Moran’s films he appreciated even more how important it was that Sherlock had avoided working with him. Not only to be able to shoot the swimming pool film, but for his own health. That it would piss off Moriarty was only a happy side effect. Yet John still hoped Sherlock’s boss wouldn’t somehow thwart his project. If he had once injured another actor just to keep Sherlock to himself…

John frowned. Surely Sherlock hadn’t had to do Moriarty’s film with the inconclusive test results. That would cause Jim endless problems with insurance and cost him a lot of money if people sued him. But John hadn’t heard from Sherlock since early in the morning.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had shoved his chair back and gotten to his feet.

“Is something wrong?” Angelo asked, turning his back on the two young women he was serving.

John shrugged, already on his way out. “I’d better go find out.”

“Let me know!” Angelo called after him.

 

Outside, John looked around to make sure Sherlock wasn’t anywhere to be seen before he hailed a cab. It wasn’t difficult to find the large house after telling the driver what area to go to. By the time he got out of the taxi, he had gotten himself all too worked up. Part of his brain just couldn’t believe that someone who was running a company like GOFFT would actually force Sherlock into doing a film under these circumstances. But if it meant Jim could have his revenge for whatever Sherlock had ever done to him…

Impatiently, John thrust some money at the cabbie and then ran to the mansion’s front door. Locked. He cursed and the feeling that something was very wrong only increased as he rushed towards the back door, where he and Sherlock had entered on the night of their first kiss. For just a moment, the panic in his mind gave way to embarrassment about the way he had accused the actor of seducing him. Then he was inside, crossing the kitchen and descending the stairs to the swimming pool. Only when he was looking into the spacious basement room did he realise that of course Sherlock would not be there. Moran’s film wouldn’t take place by a pool. So if they were filming, it had to be somewhere else in the mansion.

 

John lost track of how many doors he tried, but surely he had passed too many rooms to fit even in this giant building. Finally he made it to the first floor, and after forcefully pushing open a third door he stopped dead. The room was dark, as the windows were covered and the dark walls did not reflect any of the light John let in. Yet he could make out someone sitting on the large bed, a little slumped, their back to John. The walls were lined with racks filled with strange objects - he thought he recognised a large whip and a couple of daggers - but he didn’t take the time to further investigate them before he cleared his throat.

Slowly the man turned his head and his dark eyes fixed on John's. "You..." James Moriarty hissed. "Have you come to gloat? Did he send you? I wouldn't have thought he'd sink _that_ low."

"Gloat?" For a moment John was puzzled. Had he been wrong? Did Moriarty really not know why he was here? But no. He was just trying to throw him off. "Where is he?" John demanded.

Moriarty glared at him. "How should I know?"

"Well, you're the one making him film..." Yet Moriarty really looked like he didn't know what John was talking about.

"You know damn well he's not filming." Moriarty jumped off the bed with almost cat-like grace and walked slowly towards John. "You're the one who took the bloody test..." He cocked his head, studying John. "Did you contaminate it for him? Or just change the report from the lab?"

"He's... not filming?" John repeated slowly. "But... then why didn't he show up?"

Suddenly Moriarty's expression changed. His scowl slowly faded away into a smile that would have seemed happy if it wasn't for the manic look in his eyes. "Oh... So he's dumped you too? Got what he wanted from you? He's a clever boy, isn't he? At first, I thought you were just some fun. Or that he was hoping to make me jealous. But oh no... He had something very specific in mind for you. How did he repay you for faking his test? Did he let you fuck him? Or did he fuck you? Play one of his characters for you? Tell me... How much does the good Doctor Watson cost?"

John rolled his eyes. "I don't know what exactly happened between you two, but I don't think our situations are comparable. If he's not here, I'd better go look for him elsewhere."

"You're right..." Moriarty moved even closer, his smile starting to look like a snarl. "You don't know shit about what happened between us... What that man is capable of. You've fooled yourself into thinking you know him. Believing that he loves you." He huffed, spun around and began pacing the room.

John sighed. "Well, that's my problem, isn't it? Right now I'm just worried something happened to him. But at least _you_ didn't happen."

This earned a snort from Moriarty. "Sherlock is not _that_ important. Do you know how much it would cost me to go through with a shoot when one of my actors hasn't been cleared? The insurance company would close down my entire business before they were through with me." Then he frowned. "How long has he been missing?"

"Well... About an hour," John said a little awkwardly. "But I haven't heard from him since this morning. And his phone was switched off, which seems... weird. Considering."

"Yes..." All the manic energy seemed to have left him as Moriarty got out his own phone. "It does seem suspicious."

John blinked in surprise. He had expected that Moriarty would mock him about getting worried and continue to tell him what a bastard Sherlock was.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Moriarty glowered at his phone as the display lit up. "I'm going to kill that moron..."

John raised his eyebrows. "Can't let you do that," he said coldly.

“Not Sherlock, you imbecile…” Moriarty huffed, pushing his way past John, heading for the door.

John frowned. “Then who? Is this something to do with Sherlock?”

“Hopefully not,” Moriarty said, pausing a moment. “Look, this does not concern you. Just go home. I’m sure Sherlock will turn up eventually. If he needs you.”

“‘Hopefully’ not?” John repeated, his suspicion once again rising. “So there is a chance?”

Moriarty groaned. “No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He turned his back on John and left the room, almost at a run.

John followed him immediately. “You know something. About Sherlock. Out with it.”

“I don’t _know_ anything and even if I told you my suspicion, it wouldn’t do you any good.” Moriarty took the stairs three steps at a time.

“Stop wasting my fucking time and tell me!” John roared, grabbing the man’s arm to stop him.

Moriarty slid down two steps before coming to a halt. “Moran!” he cried, his eyes flashing dangerously. “He might just be stupid enough to…. to try something…”

“No.” John winced. “Can you contact him? Stop him?”

“I just tried, didn’t I?” Moriarty spat. “His fucking phone is turned off.”

“Where is he?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out,” Moriarty tore his arm away from John’s grip. “If you would let me get on with it.”

“I’m coming with you,” John announced.

“No, you’re not!” Moriarty was off again, taking the last handful of steps in one long leap.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” John shouted after him. “What if Sherlock needs medical care? Are you going to wait for a fucking ambulance while you can have a doctor by your side?”

Skidding to a halt, Moriarty looked back at him. “Fine,” he hissed. “Don’t just stand there then.” And with that he was out the large front door.

 

John was still struggling with his seatbelt as Moriarty practically sent his car flying out the gate.

“Why is Moran doing this?” he asked as the belt finally clicked shut. “Does he also bear some kind of personal grudge against Sherlock?”

“He is frustratingly loyal. And not very bright. It makes for a good assistant but can be catastrophic if he tries thinking for himself.” Moriarty sighed. “Since Sherlock gave me the news about the supposedly inconclusive results I have been… verbal… about my displeasure with the situation. My frustration with Sherlock’s cleverness. He has tried to thwart me before, but I’ve always been able to stop him. Except this time he had you in his corner, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” John said, feeling strangely proud for just a moment. “But… You’re saying that while you can’t keep him from doing his project… Moran will?”

“He’ll try… Probably…” Moriarty kept his eyes on the road but was grinding his teeth so hard John could actually hear it.

“That’s probably going to be worse than what you had in mind for him… right?” John suppressed a shudder.

“I seriously doubt that.” Moriarty's smile at this moment was one of the most terrifying things John had ever seen. “But whereas I had a perfectly legal project in mind, which he was contractually obliged to participate in, Moran’s plans for Sherlock cannot help but be of… questionable legality…”

John stared at him in shock. “Really? That’s all you care about? That it’s illegal?”

“Of course. I don’t want my man in prison, do I? He may be an idiot, but he’s _my_ idiot.” Jim giggled maniacally. “And besides… It would be very very bad for business.”

John shook his head. “You’ve never cared for Sherlock, have you? All those stories about you being in love with him… You don’t even care when some brute is having his way with him.”

“Shut your fucking trap!” Moriarty cried.

“Mind the road,” John said, clearing his throat.

“You don’t know shit about what happened between Sherlock and me,” Moriarty growled. “What that bastard did to me.”

“I don’t. But nothing can justify the way you have been controlling him all these years,” John said, holding on to the car door and wondering if Jim should actually be driving in his current state of mind.

“I only did what he did to me,” Moriarty said, his scowl giving way to a sinister smirk. “I’m just better at it. And less cruel.”

“Less cruel?” John scoffed.

“I have been completely open about it from the start.” Moriarty giggled. “We even have a signed contract. I would never stoop to his kind of manipulation. Playing with people like that.”

“What did he do?” John demanded.

“He hasn’t told you? How he tricked me? I’d have thought he’d be eager to brag about his greatest role.”

“He hasn’t talked much about you at all,” John said, frowning a little.

Moriarty flinched as if John had actually struck him. “No... “ he muttered. “I guess he wouldn’t talk about that… to you…”

“I’ve only heard that you were close once,” John said. “But not from Sherlock. I thought he… you know. Regretted some things that had happened. That that was why he wouldn’t talk about it.”

“I doubt he’s capable of regret,” Moriarty huffed. “But it’s true. We were close. Or so I thought. I thought that what we had, both personally and professionally, was something special. Exclusive… But Sherlock didn’t see it quite that way.”

“He cheated on you?” John guessed.

“He was going to,” Moriarty muttered. “And he didn’t even tell me before they were getting ready  to film…”

Phillip, John realised. Moriarty was actually talking about the film project Sherlock had been offered. The one that was cancelled because of that dubious accident... “If it was for a film, Sherlock probably didn’t actually have feelings for that other actor,” he commented. “Does that even count as cheating?”

“I’d only ever worked with him.” Moriarty sighed. “I only _wanted_ to work with him. And the way he’d been going on about it, I really thought he felt the same. Guess I learned my lesson. And things would have been fine if Sherlock hadn’t…”

“Hadn’t?”

“I told him it was over. That I too wanted to pursue other projects. That we should just forget about the one we had been planning. It was targeted at too narrow an audience anyway. It would never earn Angelo back the money he’d been spending on it.” He shook his head. “That man was always an idiot. Letting Sherlock drive his business into the ground...”

“I thought he earned him a lot of money,” John argued, frowning. “That’s what Angelo told me, anyway.”

“He’d have earned ten times that if he had tamed Sherlock. Made him do commercially viable films instead of that touchy feely crap he was churning out.”

“But you _did_ do the next project. So Sherlock somehow convinced you.”

“He must have been really desperate… Desperate enough to play that one card he’d been keeping back until then. Dangling in front of me, yes, but always out of reach…” Moriarty’s voice became hard as ice.

John was getting rather tired of his cryptic, drama-heightening remarks. “What? Did he ask you to marry him?”

“Don’t be daft…” Moriarty’s laugh sounded anything but amused. “He seduced me, didn’t he? Shagged my brains out.”

“Oh,” John said, understanding that it must have been the first time without cameras around. Of course Jim would have thought it meant they were together. Wanting to work with him again, Sherlock wouldn’t have communicated anything else.

“All the time we were writing, planning and shooting that cursed film, we were lovers. Going at it every chance we got. I was… happy…” Jim practically snarled that last word.

“So that evening after you filmed the fight… he ended it?” John said quietly.

“Of course not. He’s not stupid. I’m sure he was planning to. But not until after we’d finished the film.”

“But something happened that night,” John insisted.

“Yeah. I… I asked him to move in with me. He tried to string me along, but… By then I knew him well enough to see through it. So I came right out and asked him. How he really felt about me. He must have realised that I would know if he lied so he…” Moriarty sighed. “He just got up and left. I guess that was all the answer I needed.”

John studied him for a moment, thinking. In the short time he had known Sherlock, it had become all too clear that the actor didn’t find it easy to talk about his feelings. Yet at the same time, he had found no qualms about flirting with Molly just to get what he wanted. Would he go further than that just as easily, or had he had real feelings for Jim? There was no way for John to know.

“Did you ever try to talk to him after that?” he asked.

"I never got the chance. Next day he made damn sure we didn't get two seconds alone. Ignored me completely. I wanted to kill him. Which... worked out very well for the scene we were doing, don't you think?"

Moriarty stopped the car in front of a row of dingy looking apartment blocks.

John huffed and got out of the car. "Let's just find them."

Jim nodded. "Let me go in first," he said. "If he really has got Sherlock there, I need to get the situation under control. If not... Well, then he doesn't have to know you were ever here."

"Fine." John didn't like to trust Moriarty in this, but the man was probably right, and at least he knew where to go to find them.

He followed Moriarty into the nearest building, where they took the stairs at a run. The climb felt endless as John tried to focus on the steps in front of him rather than wondering what could be happening to Sherlock right now.

Finally he almost bumped into Moriarty, who gestured that John should wait in the corridor as he turned towards one of the white doors.

John nodded silently and watched Moriarty getting out a key to let himself in, leaving the door open behind him.

For a few seconds it was quiet, and John actually allowed himself to exhale. Then a scream sounded.

"Sebastian! You twat! What were you thinking!"

“Jesus, no…” John closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and burst through in. Moriarty was standing in the door leading out of the small living room, blocking his view at first, but John pushed him aside. First he saw the blond man, the colonel, standing right next to the bed, looking sheepish. He was shirtless, but thankfully still wearing his trousers. In one hand he was holding a small knife, in the other a heavy rope, and John saw a collection of clamps, whips and needles lying by his feet.

Finally he managed to drag his gaze to the bed. Sherlock was naked, looking pale and limp. He had been handcuffed to the headboard and blinked all too slowly as he moved his head a little, but there was no sign of recognition as his eyes settled on John.

“God, no,” John whispered.

“Don’t be so dramatic, boss,” Moran was saying, his voice somewhere far away. “I was just making sure he can’t do that stupid film of his. Seems only fair, right? And I’m making you a little present too.” From the corner of his eye, John saw him gesture, and for a moment he broke eye contact with Sherlock to watch over his shoulder and spot a camera set up in the corner. When he looked back, Sherlock had closed his eyes.

“What have you done to him?” John burst out, moving closer to put a hand on Sherlock’s cheek.

“I drugged him, of course,” Moran said, rolling his eyes. “He was struggling far too much and there’s only one person who gets to bite _me_.” He glanced at Moriarty, but the shorter man was trembling with rage.

“ _You’re filming this_?” Moriarty roared, looking like he might just attack the larger man.

“Of course I’m bloody filming this!” Moran said. “Serves him right to know that we can watch this over and over. That he lost his little game.”

“Shut up!” John shouted. “Sherlock? Look at me.”

“You’re providing him with evidence, you imbecile… Including the very detailed confession you just provided of how you drugged him so you could subdue him before you… well…” Moriarty made an angry, frustrated gesture at Sherlock. “This!”

“I wasn’t going to show it to anyone but you, was I?” Moran retorted. “And I’ve barely even touched him. I was only just getting started.”

“And what, exactly, were you planning on doing afterwards? Let him go? Or maybe give him a ride down to the hospital so they could photograph him, test him and call the police for him?” Moriarty still looked murderous, but with a hint of desperation that, if possible, made him look even more dangerous.

“I wouldn’t go so far that he needed a _hospital_ ,” Moran spat. “I know my limits. He wouldn’t even really need stitches.”

John looked up at him in shock. “You’re a monster. I hope you don’t think you’ll ever work again when we’re finished with you.”

For the first time since they’d entered the room, Moriarty took his eyes off his partner and turned to look at John, his eyes narrowing. “No… Don’t do that. I… I won’t let you.”

John raised his eyebrows. “How are you going to stop me? As you said, I’ve got plenty of proof.” He gestured at Sherlock, who still hadn’t made any response to him, though, as far as John could tell after a quick check, his heart rate and breathing were normal.

“I’m sure we can come to some arrangement,” Moriarty said, brushing the sleeves of his suit as if trying to compose himself. “Like… We won’t tell your pretty little wife what you’ve been getting up to with my actor and you won’t tell anyone what happened here tonight. After all, no harm was done. Not really…”

John snorted. “I really don’t care if you tell Mary. She already knows more than you do. Your boyfriend has gone too far, Jim, and I’m not going to leave that be.”

Sherlock coughed. “Con…” he muttered.

“Sherlock!” John turned to look at him and took his hand. “Sherlock, are you alright?”

“Con… tract…” Sherlock muttered. “Get out of… contract…”

Moriarty stamped his foot. “No!” he yelled. “No way!”

John stared at Sherlock, surprised and at the same time very relieved that his mind seemed to be clearing.

“Boss…” Moran said carefully. “Look, I _have_ messed up. And if that’s all he wants in return for keeping the police out of this…”

“No!” Moriarty huffed. “Do you have any idea what he’s worth to me? His films take in over half of our profits.”

“He’s leaving the company anyway,” John said, still holding Sherlock’s hand and feeling a little conflicted. He didn’t want Moran to walk free after this, but if Sherlock preferred it this way… Ultimately it was his choice, not John’s, that mattered.

“I’m sure you’ll earn it back if you start doing more films again yourself,” Moran said, stepping a little closer to Moriarty. “If not all, then still enough.”

Moriarty hesitated. He looked around the room at the various objects Moran had laid out to use on Sherlock. Then he glanced up at the camera. “It’s been so long…” he said. “I’ll need to get in shape… Practise…”

“You know I’m glad to help you with _that_ …” Moran said.

“Good,” Moriarty said, reaching out and patting his cheek. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind releasing Sherlock. And taking his place.”

John cleared his throat. “Better help me get Sherlock out of here before I change my mind,” he said pointedly. “I don’t care what you get up to afterwards.”

 

…

 

At first John didn’t like the idea of letting Moran touch Sherlock, but it was clear that Sherlock was still too fuzzy-headed to walk and he was too heavy for John to carry him down all those stairs. John had no choice but to let the tall man help him after he had covered Sherlock with a blanket - it turned out that rather than simply taking off his suit, Moran had taken his time to cut it into ribbons. He was, however, very gentle as he supported Sherlock, even crouching a little so he wouldn’t be too unbalanced with John on the other side. He waited until John had found a cab and then helped Sherlock inside - but John couldn’t get the words “thank you” over his lips. He wasn't going to forgive him any time soon.

Moran gave him a short nod and went back inside, looking rather grim at the prospect of what would happen in there, while John settled next to Sherlock in the cab, thinking that at least Moran would receive _some_ kind of punishment. But then Sherlock reached for him, his movements slow and weak, and John’s full focus was on the actor in his arms. Perhaps it was for the best that he hadn’t quite woken up from the daze yet. That he couldn’t fully feel the humiliation and the anger that would no doubt follow. If only John had asked to meet a little earlier… But there was no way he could have known this would happen. Or where Moran had found Sherlock. He must have sedated him right away, or else Sherlock wouldn’t have come with him. Unless Moran had used some kind of ruse, but he hardly seemed to have the brains for that. John decided to ask Sherlock later, when he was sure he could handle talking about it.

 

Only as the taxi passed through some familiar streets did John realise that in his haste he had told the driver his own address rather than Sherlock’s. But from the way Sherlock was still leaning on him, it was obvious that he’d better not be left alone. Surely Mary would understand that he wanted to keep an eye on him for the night, and if not, he could still bring him home once it looked like Sherlock wouldn’t pass out halfway up the stairs to his flat in Baker Street.

Sherlock was more alert by now, yet it was still a struggle to drag him out of the cab and support his weight at the same time. Before they had made it halfway to the door, it was flung open.

Mary's expression changed from confused over delighted to horrified as she took in the sight. "Sherlock..." she gasped, rushing out to help support him. "John... What happened?"

“Moran…” John said, grateful that not all of Sherlock’s weight was resting on his bad shoulder anymore. “Let’s just get him inside. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

Mary nodded and together they managed to get Sherlock inside. "Do you need anything?" she asked John as they got him settled on the sofa.

“I’m not sure,” John said. “I’ll need to have a look, but I think I was just in time that no real physical damage was done.” He bit his lip. “Maybe get him a glass of water.”

"You got it," Mary said, hurrying off. A moment later she returned with the water.

While John checked Sherlock’s body for bruises and cuts, he explained to Mary how he had found Sherlock.

"That bastard," Mary muttered, as she watched Sherlock just sit there, as if none of it concerned him. "Do you know what he gave him?"

“He injected a sedative,” John said, showing her a small needle mark on Sherlock’s arm. “Something fast-working. In a pretty high dose. He’s recovering relatively quickly, but… _Damn_ that bastard. I wish I’d punched him. Seeing Sherlock like this is just so _wrong_.”

Sherlock gasped at John's outburst and blinked rapidly.

"Oh... It's okay," Mary said, stroking his cheek gently, looking as if she was fighting back tears. "It's over. You're safe with us."

Sherlock tried focusing on her and Mary smiled. "Hi," she whispered.

“We’d better get him to bed,” John said flatly, suddenly noticing he was trembling. “I mean…” He hesitated and looked up at Mary. “We can’t just send him home like this, can we? And the sofa’s too short for him…”

Mary nodded, still smiling. "That sounds like a good idea." She took Sherlock's hand. "Can you stand up, honey?"

John put the blanket back around Sherlock, then let him lean on his shoulder to get him to his feet. “Easy now,” he said. “We’re just going to let you sleep this off. You can shower later, okay?”

Sherlock managed a nod. "Thank you," he muttered. "Both..."

Mary put an arm around him and together they walked slowly to the bedroom.

Once there, Sherlock managed to sit down on the mattress without support and John helped him into a pair of old pyjama trousers while Mary made a point of looking away.

“Is there anything you need?” he asked Sherlock, guiding him to the middle of the bed so there was less risk that he’d fall out.

Sherlock muttered something into the pillow.

"Sorry? What was that?" Mary asked, but Sherlock didn't answer as he was already fast asleep. She turned to John. "That poor thing. Imagine what would have happened if you hadn't found him in time..."

“I’d rather not,” John said, swallowing with difficulty. “It’s a good thing Moriarty knew where to look for him.” He straightened and pulled the covers over Sherlock, then walked over to Mary. “Thank you. For letting him stay here.”

"What did you expect?" Mary said, wrapping her arms around him. "That I'd kick him out as soon as you'd patched him up?" She looked over at Sherlock. "I just wish I had thought of this before. I mean... not like this, but... You bringing him here."

John smiled a little and kissed her cheek. “I really don’t want to leave him alone,” he admitted quietly. “The drugs can make him queasy and I just… I want to see for myself that he’s safe.”

"Me too," Mary whispered. She giggled. "So I guess we... join him?"

John bit his lip. "Do you think that's alright with him?"

She looked over at Sherlock. "I hope so. I mean, he didn't mind us helping him in here or you dressing him. And he _is_ in our bed. I suppose I... I could go sleep on the sofa..."

“Don’t be silly,” John said, smiling at her. “There’s enough room for the three of us.”

 

Silently, although Sherlock looked like even an explosion wouldn’t wake him, they got ready for bed. John lifted the covers very carefully as he got in, but as he lay down, Sherlock stirred and turned onto his side.

“Ssh. It’s just me. And Mary will be here in a moment,” John whispered.

Sherlock let out a sort of muffled grunt and flung an arm around John, pulling him close.

Mary giggled softly as she settled behind Sherlock. "I don't think he minds," she whispered.

John let out a silent laugh and hugged Sherlock, revelling in his warmth and scent. Of course he had imagined their first night of sleep together to happen under quite different circumstances, but this was nice. Sherlock was going to be alright and having Mary here as well was more than he could have dreamed of.

He lifted his head a little to look at her and smiled. Mary had snuggled close to Sherlock, spooning him with an arm around his waist. Sherlock seemed perfectly comfortable like that. Safe. Mary looked up and returned John’s smile. As John let his head rest on the pillow again, he finally let relief about Sherlock’s safety take over and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now there’s only the epilogue, which we will publish tomorrow :)


	15. Epicutylogue

"No, Sherlock!" Mary laughed. "You are not giving Mycroft your collected works for Christmas."

"But Mary..." Sherlock pouted. "He'll love it..."

John snorted. "You're not getting out of shopping that easily, Sherlock," he said. "Maybe buy him a phone so he doesn't have to kidnap people when he wants to talk to them..."

"He _has_ a phone," Sherlock muttered. "He does that stuff just to annoy me. So he really does deserve some of my films for Christmas. Or maybe a poster. Delivered at the office..."

"He has a phone?" John repeated. "Such a big brain and not knowing how to push a few buttons... It's tragic..."

Sherlock snorted and was about to say something more when Mary pulled hard on his arm. "How about one of those?" she said, pointing at the window of a small shop from which hundreds of cats in a range of garish colours were waving lazily at them. "They're cute and funny."

"Everything my brother is not?"

John shook his head fondly as the two others burst out in giggles again. "What do you say we go get some lunch? I'm sure we'll get more inspiration for gifts on a full stomach."

"Full stomach?" Mary said in her Sherlock-voice. "What are you talking about? I ate three days ago!"

"Oi..." Sherlock poked her in the ribs.

"Yeah, please don't turn into Sherlock," John said. "One of those is enough."

"You couldn't handle more than one," Sherlock said, nodding emphatically.

"Quite right," John agreed. "So, lunch!"

 

...

 

Even Sherlock had ordered something to eat - a large piece of cherry cake, not something Mary or John defined as "proper lunch", but it was better than nothing - and afterwards they went on their way again, strolling past the decorated windows and laughing at some of the presented gift ideas.

"Who would ever want a fake poodle fur sofa under their tree?" John wondered out loud, pointing.

"Mary's right," Sherlock said, suddenly.

"Thank you, honey," Mary said. "About what?"

"The cat. That constant waving will drive him up the walls." Taking them both by the hands, he turned, heading back to the Lucky Cat Emporium.

"It'd drive anyone up the walls," John commented, trying to keep up with Sherlock rather than just being dragged along. "So yeah, good choice for Mycroft."

"Let's get him three," Mary said, laughing as she pushed the door to the small shop open. Then she gasped and stopped so abruptly that Sherlock bumped into her.

"What's going on?" John asked from behind them. "Could you move?"

"Them..." Sherlock muttered, not moving.

Mary took a step forward, glaring at the two men by the counter, who were staring back at them as if a band of ghosts had just walked in.

John gently pushed Sherlock forward so he could finally enter the shop. "Oh..." he said. "You."

"Welcome, welcome!" the Chinese woman behind the counter said cheerily. "Lucky cats! You choose one that fits you. For the beautiful woman perhaps?"

Moriarty and Moran hadn’t moved.

"Afternoon," Moran said finally. "We were just leaving." He gestured at the small cat that stood waving on the counter.

Moriarty didn't seem to hear him, his eyes now fixed on Sherlock. "You look... well..." he said icily.

"Yes," Mary said. "Sherlock is quite well. Aren't you, honey?" She put an arm around Sherlock's waist and kissed his cheek.

"S.O.S. is doing well too," John remarked, moving to Sherlock's other side to take his hand.

Moran smiled. "Yes. You three do seem happy. That’s nice. You know, Sherlock's departure wasn't such a big loss now that Jim is back in action... That's why I'm getting him a reward. Another kitten to play with."

"You knew you didn't need me," Sherlock said softly to Moriarty. "For the company."

Moriarty managed the smallest of nods, then with a huff broke away from Moran and pushed his way past them out the door.

"Excuse me," Moran told the shopkeeper, before nodding at Sherlock, Mary and John. "I'll have to buy his cat later."

He followed Moriarty through the door and just before it fell shut, John could still hear him say: "Deep breaths, Kitten. Deep breaths."

Mary tried to look concerned, but then broke down laughing.

Sherlock shook his head but couldn't help smiling a little as he walked up to the counter. "I'd like to pay for that cat," he told the woman. "If you wouldn't mind keeping it until those two return."

"Sherlock..." Mary purred, joining him. "How... big of you..."

John smiled. "Shall I choose one for Mycroft? The ugliest I find?"

"Let's choose one each," Mary said. "One for his study, one for his office and one for the sitting room."

As always, Mary was full of good ideas, and they ended up leaving the shop with two very ugly cats and one very fat one, which Sherlock had been delighted to find. After that, they all agreed they'd had enough shopping for the day and that it was time to head on home.

As John walked along the street, arm in arm with both Mary and Sherlock, he realised that he was smiling like a lunatic. And he couldn't care less if anyone saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for reading and leaving those awesome comments. We are quite thrilled with how you have responded to our little trio. We have grown very fond of them too and along the way we realised that there is no way we could just let them wander out of our lives. So expect more. Not an actual sequel, because we, unfortunately, do not have the time for that. But every now and then, when we can’t help ourselves, small stories might pop up, letting you know how John, Mary and Sherlock are doing. Or maybe Moriarty and Moran. Or perhaps we’ll turn back the clock and look into some of those interesting and funny incidents hinted at but never quite explored. So make sure to subscribe so you don’t miss them!


	16. New story

Hello, dear readers!

Just a quick note to tell you that we have published a new story in the Sherwood universe: [Family Dinner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312263).

As we're not going to post a new chapter here for every new story, we suggest you subscribe to the Sherwood series or to us as authors to make sure you don't miss anything.

Enjoy reading!


	17. Request

This chapter was created to request help concerning an Inkitt contest (below). It has long since ended, so logically we would delete this chapter. But to be honest, we'd forgotten all about our request here until someone commented on it, telling us that they recommended this fic on Tumblr! We'd rather not have that disappear so the 'empty' chapter 17 will have to stay.

Thanks for reading and make sure to check out the rest of the _Sherwood_ series!

* * *

 

Dearest subscribers, dearest readers,

We submitted this story to the fanfiction novel contest on Inkitt.com. It would mean a lot to us if you simply left a like on the story by clicking the heart (scroll to the bottom of the page to find this).

You can find _Sherwood_ here: <http://www.inkitt.com/stories/36230>

We also entered another of our stories, _Between Frontlines_. Here, too, we would like to ask for your support. Link: <http://www.inkitt.com/stories/35668>

Thank you so much for helping us. It’s just a click, but it means a lot to us, as rising in votes will make more people read our stories.

Jlocked & The Lady of Purpletown


End file.
